Homicidal By Design
by Blue Eye Phantom
Summary: Hector Escaton had been built to play a very specific role in Westworld: Poster-boy Desperado. He was violent, aloof, and a main attraction. Aside from the odd blacklisted exchange, he faithfully stuck to his role, driven by a cliché backstory & a reckless thirst for chaos. He was the last host anyone expected to discover the maze. Until he met a real living Isabella.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As of 7/8/19, every chapter has been overhauled and reuploaded. I hope you enjoy it even more!**

"Did you remember to bring epi-pens?" "Mother I am 27, when are you going to stop asking me if I remembered to bring my epi-pen places?" Isabella Moore, better known as Izzy, joked. She knew the answer to that already: never. Her mom was a perpetual worrier.

Of course, her mom didn't answer — she didn't have to — instead switching gears completely. "I cannot wait for you to see some of those gunslingers there…"

"MOM!" Izzy interjected as the bullet train sped her toward her destination: _Westworld._ How she was talked into spending her vacation time at a supped-up renaissance fair, she would never know. And she was already uncomfortable with the android thing—as an attorney, her career was based on seeing how twisted and evil humans could be. She most certainly did not need to see how shitty they were when they didn't have any laws to follow.

"I know, I know…I'm just saying that we built some dashing creatures when I was in the lab! Besides, Len will be with you the whole time. He knows the park very well, he will make sure you see _all_ the good stuff," her mom continued jokingly. Izzy didn't miss the innuendo.

Leonard Price and his parents had been family friends for years; the two met at a Delos gala for shareholders when they were just 5. He had always had a crush on her, and she had _always_ let him know that she wasn't looking for a relationship (which was always partially true). He had taken her to homecoming, prom, soirees, and galas, and everyone, including Izzy's own mom, assumed getting married someday was a foregone conclusion.

Over the last few years, her mother's illness had kept her from actively being a member of the board, but the Moore family owned 10% of Westworld. Together the Moore and Price families owned one fourth of the park. For most of her adult life, Izzy had managed to avoid the park, but her mother, Susan Moore, had been a software designer alongside Robert Ford before Izzy was born. It was only after she became a mother that she wanted to step back from the day to day running of the park.

Izzy didn't know much about the inner workings of Westworld, but knew that the more lifelike the androids, "hosts" they were called, became, the more distance her mom wanted to put between herself and the company. Izzy knew from photos and videos that the robots seemed extraordinary, but to think that people actually came here for the purpose of following story lines of "intimacy" with them was beyond her. At the end of the day, they were still just robots. _What did that even do to one's psyche?_

Perhaps, she thought, it had been different for her mom because she built them; she created backstories and wardrobes and scars. They became more than robots to her. Izzy always felt an odd pang of sadness when she thought of it. How much of an emotional toll it must have taken to create these individuals, to know them inside and out, and then have to send them out to the park like lambs to slaughter. Izzy understood why her mom couldn't do it anymore once she had been born. She didn't think she would ever have been able to do it.

"I still don't see how people can get off like that. Weird."

Her mom laughed. "While I understand your point, and never had any inclination to go down that narrative myself, I think you will be surprised when you get there. At this point, it's hard to tell the humans from the androids. I wouldn't be surprised if you had quite a few suitors—human and host. You will certainly give even the prettiest hosts a run for their money."

"I'll shoot first, kiss later, just to be safe." Izzy retorted dryly. She had already been briefed on the park's rules and safety measures before getting on to the train. Apparently the guns only inflicted damage on the hosts; they were like paint balls to guests. Basically, the guests couldn't lose, no matter how hard the level they were playing. Izzy didn't like it. Even if they were just robots. "Not that I don't love the attentions of rich middle-aged men who are fueling their already inflated egos with a non-stop adrenaline high."

There was a maternal sigh on the other end of the line, and Izzy looked out the window to watch the desertous landscape whiz by. She didn't think there would ever be an age that her mom stopped sighing at her. "Izzy, please do me a favor and try to have some fun? I know Lenny will try his best to make it a fun time, and maybe this will be a bonding experience for you both. Besides, most of the upstanding gentleman at the park will be hosts, Lenny will look like a white knight compared to the other guests!"

Izzy rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that's part of the reason he wants to come with me so badly on my quest for golden nuggets or whatever I'm doing."

"I think you will be surprised when you get there how much amazing stuff there is to see and do. Besides, Len said Lee Sizemore, the head of the Narrative Department, has a present for you! Call me when you get settled and you're all dressed up for the park," her mom explained. Izzy was surprised by the excitement in her mom's voice, or was it nervousness? Either way it made her a little anxious.

 _"Welcome to Westworld. Use caution when disembarking from the train and please wait on the platforms. If you are meeting someone, they have been notified of your arrival and will be coming to escort you. If you are travelling alone, please wait for your designated host to get you settled. And remember, here at Westworld, you can live without limits."_

* * *

Izzy only had to stand on the pristine space-age-looking platform for a few minutes before Len's smiling face popped out of the crowd. The redhead looked as handsome as ever in his dark blue suit.

"Izzy!"

He handed her the bouquet of pink flowers and gave her a tight hug. Len's affection was so open and unassuming that Izzy couldn't help but be happy to see him. "It's good to see you, Len. Thank you for the flowers."

"How was the trip here? They were able to fly you straight out of LAX, right?" he asked with concern, picking up the handle of her small Louis Vuitton suitcase. Almost immediately a woman in white with her black hair in a sleek chignon took the suitcase from him and wheeled it off. "I almost forgot that you have a suite on the Mesa. I was wondering why you brought luggage. I don't even bring stuff anymore, they have _everything_ here!"

Izzy was trying to pay attention to Len's excited stream of one-sided conversation, but her focus was on the woman who had smiled cordially to her and taken her suitcase. "Len, was that a…"

He stopped speaking and turned back to her. _"Was she a host?_ Yes. You won't see a human staff member until we get to the Mesa, and then everyone inside will be a human."

"We aren't taking the train to Sweetwater?" she asked, looking around at all of the people dressed in white that were assisting guests; they were all robots. Her mom was right, they certainly were realistic looking!

"Oh my god, I totally forgot…you've never seen a host before! Don't worry, you'll get used to them. It's pretty easy to tell them from real people, no matter how many little tricks Design gets them to perform!" Len joked, walking them to the escalator. "Through here is wardrobe. I had some stuff made special for you, I hope you like it. Once we're dressed we can head up to the Mesa just so you can meet a few of the execs. Oh and I got to see the surprise Sizemore has for you, you are going to love it!"

Izzy couldn't help but smile at that. She was excited to wear the period clothing and be on the back of a horse again. After only a few days of not seeing her own horse, Rosie, she was already having equine withdrawal. Although she hated to admit it, she had an inner princess that couldn't wait to be unleashed at Westworld.

"Hello, my name is Adriana," a beautiful Asian host walked out of the door to the private fitting room and smiled welcomingly at them. "You must be Isabella Moore. Welcome to Westworld. I hope your travels weren't too tiring!"

Izzy chastised herself, because her first reaction was to be utterly and profoundly creeped-out by the robot that looked so much like a human. Even her voice was perfectly biological. "It—it was fine, thank you. How are you?"

There was a pause before Len interjected with a short laugh. "Izzy has never been here before, she's a bit overwhelmed."

The host smiled back at Izzy in understanding. "I am well, thank you. Would you like to choose your wardrobe now? Or shall we wait and let you rest a moment?"

"No, no…I'm good. This is just a bit overwhelming! I can pick out my clothes now, I don't want to waste your time," she assured the other woman.

Len whispered something along the lines of: _"She's a host. She doesn't care."_ And Izzy shot him a glance. There was no harm in being polite. She caught spiders and set them free outside, no one who looked and talked like a human was going to get less consideration than a spider.

"It's no trouble, but I am excited to show you some of the gowns we have for you, they're beautiful, and will look even better on you!" Adriana explained. She sounded like she genuinely liked her job, and even though Izzy knew it had to be programming, was secretly relieved.

It wasn't long before she had two day dresses, an evening gown, and all of the necessary undergarments chosen. They were sent straight to her hotel room at the Mariposa so they wouldn't wrinkle on the journey.

"Did you want to pick out some jewelry? I have some suggestions to match the evening gown," Adriana told her as they walked into an adjacent room from the clothing area.

Izzy touched the silver necklace she was wearing. It was her lucky one, a silver skeleton key. "Can I wear mine?"

"Of course you can, I will just need to put it through our processing system quickly." The host took the necklace in her hands carefully and entered some data into her key pad. A photo was also taken of it.

As she did that, Izzy perused the earring and necklaces, choosing a few that would flatter the rose-colored satin evening gown and the sage green riding dress she had fallen in love with.

* * *

Touring the Mesa had been amazing. The number of floors and complexes, and the surrounding technology were astounding, hidden so far away from civilization. The building itself, however, was a massively ugly thing that sat on top of the mesa. The modern, white architecture looked so out-of-place among the natural splendor.

No doubt it wowed the guests. But she was not a guest. She was there on business, only immersing herself in the park because her mom wanted her too. Izzy didn't like to think of it as a dying wish, but her mom's cancer was terminal, and at some point in the not so distant future, the Moore's shares of Westworld would be hers to deal with… or _not._

"Miss Moore! And Mr. Price!"

A short British man greeted her as she and Len walked off the elevator and into the Livestock Management area. She recognized him vaguely and assumed he was Lee Sizemore.

"Mr. Sizemore, how are you doing?" Len asked cordially, shaking the man's hand.

"I am doing quite well. _Izzy!_ It has been too long! I thought we would never get you out here! How are you liking the Delos hub? But more importantly, how is your mother doing?"

"She has her good days and bad days, thank you for your concern. This place is amazing. Truly astonishing, like your narratives, Mr. Sizemore. Although I don't know how I feel about calling it 'Livestock Management'…sounds a little slave-tradey to me," she replied with a tight-lipped smile as her eyes wandered over the vast space and all of the busy rooms.

Len laughed uncomfortably.

"Ah, yes, you're a human rights lawyer now, are you not? Kudos on trying to make the world a better place," Lee said, not seeming to miss a beat. "I have your present all set up in one of the far rooms. I know Design worked extremely hard on her. Hopefully she can make you love Westworld as much as your mother does."

"I can't wait for you to see it, Iz, you are going to want to run out to Westworld the minute you see it!" Len smiled at her before turning back to Lee. "I'm sure it's hard with your career and all to make the distinction about who deserves human rights and who doesn't, but I promise you will love this!"

Lee and Len led the way to the room, not noticing the scowl on her face. Izzy didn't know if that was supposed to be a joke or if he really thought her perception was skewed, but she had been ten seconds away from asking Len who he thought didn't deserve rights.

Fortunately for Len, all of Izzy's irritation with him abruptly came to an end when she saw the present.

A designer stood holding the horse's reins, focusing its attention it so it stood alert and posed. It was a beautiful cream color with characteristic perlino reddening down the legs and tail. Its eyes were a haunting light brown.

"We thought you could ride the first Saddle Horse in the park," Lee explained happily. Izzy could hear the pride in his voice. "Go on, go give her a look. Your mom said you would be the harshest critic of our horses!"

Without hesitation, she walked over and extended her hand to the mare, who sniffed it affectionately. Izzy knew she would never get over the feeling of horse breath; there was no better medicine for frazzled nerves. Looking over the horse's long graceful neck and delicate features, she felt a rush of relief at the familiarity. Horses were horses in her book. "She is stunning, Mr. Sizemore. Thank you for this."

He clapped his hands decisively. "If she's up to your standards, Miss Moore, we will have her shipped to the stables outside the Mariposa for you. Welcome to Westworld."


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh miss, you look so beautiful!" the ladies maid at the Mariposa hotel exclaimed, giving Izzy a hand mirror from the cluttered vanity so she could see the back of her hair. Izzy was amazed by what the little host had accomplished in such a short time.

What had started off as "just something to keep it out of my face" had turned into a sweeping bun with twirls and braids interwoven; the many colors of her blonde hair all mingled to create a unique look. To finish it off, two wisps of hair were curled to frame her face. The ladies maid, Annie, assured her it was all the rage in France right now.

"You did a phenomenal job, Annie, thank you!" Izzy complimented, smiling at the young freckled host who beamed proudly. _No matter what Len said, she was giving this girl a tip!_

"Now we just have to get you some rouge. I'll be right back!"

The host scurried off, leaving Izzy to stare at her reflection in the vanity mirror alone. Taking a walking tour of Sweetwater had been wonderful; knowing that none of the stores or houses were facades, that you could walk into any place and buy goods, greet people, even see a doctor, it was overwhelming. It really was like being transported in time. The nickering of horses and hoofbeats, the dull roar of idle chatter and the occasional gun shot, they were all perfectly harmonized with the mountains and plateaus in the distance. The stripes of colored rock glittered with sandstone in the afternoon sun, and Izzy wanted to see everything Sweetwater had to offer. Poor Len had to walk with her as she thoroughly examined every building and walkway!

At least he hadn't had to be there when she took a good five minutes just to appreciate how cute her cozy room was. The vanity and wardrobe were so large, that only a bed fit in the remaining space, but the furniture was beautifully carved dark wood worthy of nobility. Westworld only shied from historical accuracy to give her a small adjoining bathroom with running water in the tub. _Thank goodness for small favors._

While they were out on their tour, it had also taken Izzy no time at all to drop an extra $1000 on a royal blue riding habit she had found while window shopping. The dressmaker was happy to take her measurements and have the bodice and skirt alterations done while Izzy continued her thorough examination of the town. And it was that dress she was sitting in now. Inspecting her reflection, Izzy agreed with the host maid when she said it made her eyes look very blue.

There had to be some perk to having lackluster grey eyes, and it was that depending on the color she wore, they could seem bluish or greenish; they reflected the color. That was not to say that Izzy didn't think she was pretty, on the contrary, she knew she was quite beautiful—even if she was lacking in the cleavage department. Unfortunately she wasn't a girl-next-door approachable sort of pretty. She had, she was told, quite the resting bitch face. Not to mention, she was tall and, thanks to kickboxing, a little more muscular than most women. _But hey, a girl's got to blow off steam somehow. Especially in her line of work._ If men were intimidated by her, well that was their problem.

And she looked damn good in this period clothing.

It only took a few minutes, once the maid returned, for her to be ready to go, and Len was waiting for her downstairs in the saloon.

"Izzy you look beautiful!" he exclaimed, doing the shot waiting for him and then pushing off the dark wood bar. She couldn't help but grin unabashedly at him, maybe this place really was seductive, like her mom had told her.

"The horses should be saddled," Len commented, taking her by the hand in a gallant fashion. It was odd to see him so thoroughly entrenched in the character, but Izzy supposed that Westworld had the same effect on him that it did her. And from his black cowboy hat to the rather serious looking gun in his holster, Len looked like he belonged in the park.

As they turned to leave, an old man with a black eye patch called out to them from his seat at the bar. "If you kids are lookin' fer adventure, can I interest you in a treasure hunt? I need able-bodied young people like yerselves, but I have a map. There's said to be a stash of gold up in the mountains!"

"Len," Izzy turned to him and grabbed his arm. "Let's do it! It sounds like a lot of fun!"

"That's the spirit lass!" the host replied enthusiastically. "You won't regret it!"

Len cringed, taking hold of her waist in an attempt to guide her. "Iz, there are a lot of things we could do. Don't just pick the first thing."

She frowned, eyeing the still-hopeful host. "I want to do this. The mountains look beautiful and it will be a lot of riding. It seems like a good way to get my feet wet here. It's not my fault that you've been here a million times already."

They stared at each other.

"Fine, okay, you're right," Len relented with a reluctant smile. He turned to the old man. "I will go bring the horses around and we will meet you outside the saloon."

"Ye haw! And the lady is right, the mountains are some of the purdiest sights you'll ever see."

Izzy pretended to not hear Len's groan. As long as she was the one paying her own discounted rate of $10,000 a day, she was going to get what she wanted. Not his money, not his narrative.

* * *

Much to Izzy's dismay, it took all of 10 minutes before Len was trying to sidetrack her again.

The three of them walked their horses through the bustling town, passing by the jail. It seemed the rather adorable-looking plump sheriff and his posse were looking to gather a few more people to go hunt an outlaw. Another couple of guests, a chubby middle-aged man in a brave maroon-colored coat and black necktie, and a petite black-haired woman with a top hat seemed to be eager to begin.

" _Murderous son-of-a-bitch named Hector Escaton gunned down the marshal. He's holed up in the mountains."_

Immediately, Len froze and turned to read the newly posted Wanted poster. They were willing to give $500 for the guy, which Izzy estimated at about $14,000 in modern terms. _A respectable sum to garner,_ she joked internally.

Seeing where this situation was going, the blonde steadfastly continued her superficial conversation with Eye Patch, the host, in hopes that her sheer force of will would get them out of temptation and on the road to the gold hunt. But all hope was lost when the sheriff singled Len out.

" _You there, you look like the type who'd put his mettle to it!"_

He turned to her with a pleading expression. "Iz , come on. This will be so much more fun and exciting. You will like this so much more! We can do the gold hunt any time, he is here every day. The Escaton Hunt only loops once every three weeks! If we don't do it now, we'll miss it!"

Izzy sighed in defeat. Maybe he was right, maybe she would enjoy this much more, and if it only was available once in three weeks it was probably worth doing. She had to trust that Len knew her well enough to know what she would like. They could always do the gold hunt tomorrow. She looked between Eye Patch, the sheriff, and Len.

"We are trying to catch him alive, right?" she ventured. She did not care how creeped-out by the robots she was, she was not going to be a party to hunting and killing anything, anytime, anywhere for fun.

The sheriff was about to speak, but Len cut him off. "Of course, Izzy. We always want to catch them alive."

She sighed and turned to Eye Patch. "I'm really sorry sir, if you'll have us tomorrow, we'd be happy to help you." She handed him a few coins.

The old man tipped his hat to her and gave her a kind smile. "No worries, little lady. I'd be happy to see you tomorrow, now go help keep the town safe!"

That made her feel better about the situation, and she went to check the horse's girth and then the saddlebags. Everything from a canteen of water to Band-Aids were safely strapped in.

Len mounted his black horse. "Stop giving the hosts money!" he demanded jokingly. "They don't need it. You do!"

Izzy shot him a glare. "They make me sad!"

He argued no further, and with the sheriff leading the way, they set off to the mountains to find Hector Escaton's camp.

* * *

The ride through the rough narrow mountain paths was eerily silent anytime there was a lull in the conversation. If Izzy didn't know better, she would have assumed that the ambiance was tailored to the narrative. She was prepared for owl calls and thunder sounds any minute. But that didn't lessen the spectacular view. Len and the other male guest, Craig, raced ahead when they first got out of town, and she had been tempted to follow suit, but the woman, Lori, would have been left alone in the back of the pack. Based on how much small talk she kept starting, Izzy figured she really wasn't pleased with that prospect.

"So is this your first trip to the park?" Lori asked. She was constantly switching hands with the reins and swatting flies, definitely not the outdoorsy type.

"Yeah I used to come a lot when I was little with my mom. But that was mostly shareholder parties and stuff. I don't remember ever going into the actual park. How about you?" Izzy gazed off over the mountain; a herd of buffalo roamed in a meadow below. "You see that, girlie? Not a bad first impression of the park for either of us, huh?" she asked the mare with an encouraging pat.

The cowboy host riding slightly ahead next to the sheriff shot her an amused smile.

Lori nodded thoughtfully. "This is my first time here too. Craig heard so many good things from his friends that he was just dying to come. So here we are, spending our 11th anniversary hunting bandits!"

"Congratulations. I'm sure there are worse ways to spend an anniversary," she joked. The woman laughed, but it wasn't convincing.

"I'm trying to humor him, but sitting on a horse for hours in the blistering sun, in a dress that weighs a million pounds, isn't exactly what I call fun."

Izzy could tell by the woman's declining enthusiasm in body language and increase in restless fidgeting, any moment now her companion was going to start complaining.

"How much longer is this going to take? It is starting to get dark!"

 _Like clockwork._

The man laughed amiably. "Sweetheart we didn't decide to go on a nature hike! This may take some time!" He looked to Len for bro-confirmation. _Silly girls, am I right?_

"Escaton is like a snake; he's silent, knows these hills as well as the savages do. He's elusive as one too," the sheriff commented spitefully. He eyed the mountain carefully. "We have to keep a sharp eye out."

Izzy looked up at Len who gave her an excited smile. He seemed like such a little boy, playing cowboy. She was glad they chose this narrative instead.

"What the hell?" The man riding up near the sheriff urged his chestnut into a canter and raced around the bend before pulling up abruptly.

The group was stopped in front of a small destroyed campsite right off the road where a man lay dead. The hosts dismounted first and inspected the fly-covered body.

 _Okay, that body looks and smells a little too real._ Izzy saw that Lori was thinking the same thing based on the fear in her eyes and the hand covering her mouth.

"Yeap, looks like Hector's been this way," the sheriff confirmed after poking the body with a branch. He surveyed the cliffs warily.

Craig and Len dismounted to inspect the scene for themselves, and the ladies followed suit reluctantly. The smell of the body alone was enough for Izzy to know she did not want to investigate further personally.

She took the time to slowly survey the scenic cliffs and wilderness, and for the briefest of moments thought she had seen movement. Her eyes locked on to a shadowy crevice among the rocks above them; although with the encroaching darkness it was hard to discern what exactly she was looking at, as her eyes adjusted she swore there was a human face staring back at her.

She glanced away and said nothing. If they were going to find the outlaw, it was going to be up to cowboy Len and cowboy Craig.

"Any idea how much longer this is going to take? My wife doesn't want to be out here after dark," Craig asked the sheriff.

 _How could he possibly know the answer to that? And why would you assume that hunting down an outlaw in the mountains was going to be a Sunday matinee-home for the night game sort of experience?_ Izzy rolled her eyes, letting out a cough. The desert air was hard on her lungs.

The nice cowboy who had smiled at her handed her his flask in reaction. Izzy nodded her thanks, not really wanting to share spit with a robot, but needing to whet her pallet. And alcohol would definitely make this experience more interesting.

As she took the swig, she couldn't help but think that if the outlaw they were hunting was a murderer who was skilled at camouflaging himself in the hills, _and_ they just found a recently murdered man... shouldn't they _not_ stop and dismount? Didn't this make them sitting ducks?

* * *

What the sheriff didn't know was that for a brief moment while he was scanning the hills, he had been staring directly at his prize. If he had had a mind to, Hector could have killed him a half-hour ago. How the hapless crew ever brought down a real criminal was beyond him. He heard the group of wannabe gunslingers from the moment they entered the pass miles ago, racing and shouting like idiots. The marshal's gang hadn't been much more inspiring, but at least they seemed to take it seriously!

 _"Una serpiente?_ Our friend must not know that he has a real snake in his midst. I am just the cold-blooded half-savage."

The woman next to him smirked, making the snake tattoo on her face appear to coil tighter. She cocked her gun and leveled it on the boulder in front of them.

"Just wait, they are not quite where I want them yet," Hector replied loftily. He was not concerned by this small group of misfits. The one woman didn't even look like she wanted to be there, and one man kept looking back and smiling at the other woman. Not exactly a menacing sight.

The pretty blonde woman intrigued him, however. Unlike her unfortunately unobservant leader, when she was surveying the cliffs, she had spotted him easily. He knew it by the way her eyes flashed for a moment. She stared him down, but as quickly as she had challenged him, she looked away. And she said nothing to the rest of the group.

Another useful addition to the sheriff's dream team.

Armistice grumbled, but obliged. "You seem very sure of yourself today. Careful you don't get cocky."

He gave her a cheeky smile. "They come up into my mountains and expect to be successful? Well the hunter can try, but the fox knows where he is going."

* * *

It had only taken a few minutes after swallowing the whiskey for Izzy to know something was wrong. She felt the telltale itching and burning sensation spread over her skin. _What had she eaten that would have given her an allergic reaction?_ She would only have moments before her throat began to close.

She reached for the saddlebag, but the mare jumped sideways in fright as shots began to ring out and echo in the closed-off pass. She would need someone else's help.

She looked to Lori, who had been next to her, only to find the older woman already had her horse turned around and was heading back down the path. One of the hosts went with to escort her. Scanning the area, Izzy realized that the sheriff seemed to be malfunctioning; despite the danger being imminent, he remained frozen in place, mumbling and twitching. The other host ran to find shelter among the rocks and shrubs to return fire.

 _Shit shit shit shit shit..._ Izzy forced herself not to panic, even though she could hear her racing heart in her ears and black spots began to appear in her vision. The horses were scrambling and bumping into each other in the small space and Izzy lost track of her mare.

"Len..." she gasped, anxiously searching for him amid the escalating chaos. Len and Craig seemed to have embraced their inner cowboy and were busy shooting at the phantoms in the hills, probably with the one remaining host.

The earth shifted beneath her feet and she swayed, waves of nausea coming over her as she fought for breath. "Len..." Izzy tried again but it came out as a choked sound. Blackness began to threaten the edges of her vision and, while trying to make her way over to her horse and the epi-pen in the saddlebag, she stumbled to the ground.

Completely disoriented, all she could do was stare up at the sunset and gasp for air, but she vaguely noticed in the haze of her mind that the sound of gunshots had ceased as suddenly as they had begun. Moments later an unfamiliar face was leaning over her; until she recognized it from the wanted poster.

 **R & R please!**


	3. Chapter 3

_"We have a problem in the mountains near Sweetwater."_

 _The Quality Assurance manager looked up from the expansive Westworld map with interest. "Another blacklisted exchange?"_

 _The man pursed his lips uneasily. "I was notified that a host stabbed a guest."_

 _"That's impossible," the woman commented with concern, pulling up the map of the mountains. "The host would have had to override its core programming, and then also override its Good Samaritan coding. The host would been compelled to self-destruct."_

 _"It was near Escaton's camp. At the Outlaw Hunt narrative marker 1. We were also notified that a host was malfunctioning— Sheriff Pickett. I thought we could send a team down there and collect both units."_

 _The woman frowned in confusion. "The sheriff malfunctioned, but another separate host stabbed the guest?"_

 _"Hector was the one picked up by the triggered tracker. Happened to one Isabella Moore, while she and Leonard Price were on the outlaw hunt."_

 _"Oh Jesus—could he had picked a worse time to act up again? Could he have picked a worse victim? Ugh I swear I ask every month if we can decommission Escaton, he can't go for more than a few weeks without a blacklist interaction with a guest! He has been a danger for a long time now!" she fumed. "This software update probably gave him the freedom to finally hurt someone seriously."_

 _The man chuckled, knowing his manager's grievances with the often-plucky host. "Unfortunately, the macho men like to fight with him, the white hats like to kill him, and the women fantasize about fucking him. He's a popular attraction...although it seems like he finally went far enough for you to get your wish."_

 _"Of course he did! He's homicidal by fucking design, this was just a matter of time. Send a team down to retrieve both hosts."_

* * *

 _Completely disoriented, all Izzy could do was stare up at the sunset and gasp for air, but she vaguely noticed that the sound of gunshots had ceased in the haze of her mind. Moments later a concerned face was leaning over her. It was somehow familiar_.

Izzy opened her eyes to the encroaching sunset darkness, the pain of an after-epi-pen headache in the back of her skull, and a new throbbing pain in her thigh. _A little overzealous with the stabbing there, buckaroo._ With a groan, she propped herself up on her elbows, her brain trying to make sense of her quiet surroundings. A chunk of loose hair fell in her face and she blew it out of the way.

How long had she been out? Where was she? "Len!" Izzy whispered forcefully. She didn't want to break the silence in case there was someone around. Someone like...

"Good. You are awake."

She started, her eyes darting in the shadows to find where the person was. She had never heard a voice quite like that before. It sounded genuinely pleased, and was colored with a Spanish accent that had an odd gravely quality to it. _How fascinating to think that someone had designed that unique voice to fit a specific host._ "Where am I?"

"You are right where you fell. Your... _friends_ are back at my camp." The voice sauntered lazily through the words, as if it had no vested interest.

Izzy sighed in relief, so Len was okay. Not that he could be killed, but she still worried about him. "How long was I out?"

"Ehhh..." the voice pondered. "Thirty minutes or so. I did not know if you should be moved in your condition."

A lightbulb went off in her head, and she made another attempt to find the source of the voice among the trees and rocks. "You were the one who saved me."

The voice gave a measured chuckle. "I followed your very specific instructions."

With a cough, she attempted to stand up, but underestimated the pain in her leg. She was definitely going to have one hell of a bruise; she supposed he had no idea how hard he needed to jab the needle. Izzy was certainly not going to complain that someone had come to her rescue.

The sound of boots crunching on gravel and faint jingling of spurs grew nearer until a tall figure stood in front of her with its gloved hand outstretched. She took it with the intention of retaining her ladylike mystique, but quickly discovered that she needed the support to get up. The host was quick to offer his other hand to make sure she got to her feet without incident.

"Thank you," Izzy noted once she was upright, pulling her bare hands from his grasp as if they were burning. She couldn't help it, the fingers felt too human gripping her. "Did you wait here this whole time?"

Part of her was concerned that he had wasted his own time to watch after her, the other, much larger, part was unsettled. Like when you see videos of dolphins saving drowning swimmers and feel like there had to be organized, complex thought involved. Izzy had been told that the hosts were part of storylines; they could improvise, if necessary, to interact with a guest within that narrative. But that an android was capable of not only saving her life, but then having the foresight to stay with her until she was alright, away from his narrative, was astonishing. And creepy. And welcomed at this point.

She made sure to create space between them once she was steady on her feet.

An amused smile seemed to ghost over the host's lips, but it was hard to see his face clearly. His short black hat cast a sinister shadow over his eyes, and his thick beard disguised the rest. The scar over his eye was the only indicator that he was the one she had seen earlier.

His response told her that she hadn't been mistaken about his expression. "I had to make sure you were alright... _there are outlaws in these mountains."_

 _"You don't say,"_ Izzy joked. She couldn't help but let out a deep shaky sigh, and the host eyed her.

"I will take you to camp with your friends. You can rest and eat by the fire."

He began walking away up the hill with long, nimble strides, and Izzy had to hold up her skirts to keep up. There was no way she was going to make it all the way if she had to go at that pace.

It seemed like he belatedly remembered she was unable to walk that fast, because he slowed down and walked beside her up the path.

Once they got to the small encampment, everything froze.

* * *

 _"Freeze all motor functions."_

Izzy spun around to the see where the voice was coming from, only to be blinded by large flashlights. In the pristine world, it was unsettling to see the modern device shining so inelegantly on the paused hosts. A small all-terrain truck already had the bodies of the sheriff, cowboy, and the dead man from the road in the back. They were unceremoniously piled in a way that reminded Izzy of the stories of the black plague victims; she had to look away—that was the young man who smiled at her while she was talking to her horse. He offered her a drink when he thought she was thirsty. Unexpected tears sprung to her eyes at seeing him being treated as a greying, bloody commodity.

"What is going on?" she asked as a man in a white and red biohazard suit walked by.

There were two hosts frozen by the fire, enjoying a meal with some guests Izzy didn't recognize, the woman with the snake tattoo was in the process of walking into her tent, and the fourth host stood beside her, a perfectly serene expression on his face. For the first time, the deepest part of Izzy's brain truly acknowledged that they were not human. It took seeing them all paused, unmoving in a way that no organic creature can, for it to really sink it.

 _"That's the one."_ Another person commented, pointing at her host. _Well, he wasn't her host, but he sort of was at this point._

"Excuse me!" Izzy shouted. All four of the team finally froze.

"Ah, Miss Moore!" One of the park workers strode up to her and shook her hand. "I am so glad to see you!"

"Izzy!"

She looked over to see Len tied up on the other side of camp with Craig. "Len! Are you okay?!"

He nodded, but was sporting a mean black and blue mark on his face, Craig looked a little roughed up as well. Apparently the "Hosts don't harm guests" rule only meant that they couldn't shoot guests or kill them. Beating and tying them up was totally acceptable. Izzy felt a little better about the park's playing field.

"Miss, we received a signal that you had been attacked by a host!" the woman in the suit explained. She eyed the host next to Izzy with disdain. _"This_ host. Are you alright? Do you want us to give you a ride back to the Mesa? Do you want me to send a medical team to inspect the wound?"

After a moment of confusion. Izzy realized what the woman was talking about. "Oh, no I'm perfectly fine. Nothing happened, he actually did me a huge favor by getting me my epi-pen and administering it. I would have been toast the way my allergic reaction came on so quickly."

A second man from the crew walked up to the host and opened his touch screen. Izzy tried not to be obvious watching him, but the term "Livestock Management" popped into her brain. She had to stifle the urge to stand between the man and host. Apparently she had grown attached to this host despite their short time together.

"That is such a relief. You had the whole QA team worried about you. Not to mention the terrible malfunction of the sheriff. Westworld is usually a beautiful and immersive place. Please, know that these issues are few and far between."

"Truly, it was no problem. Like I said, if it wasn't for... _Hector_ here, I could have really been hurt." It had taken her a moment to rack her brain for the name the sheriff kept repeating. _Butchering,_ was a better term for it, now that Izzy had heard the host's accent—they were definitely mispronouncing the last name.

The woman laughed uneasily, and Izzy could tell that it wasn't the response she had been looking for. The man with the tablet had removed a small black object that looked like a syringe. "We are all so happy to hear that you are fine and can continue your journey! Unfortunately we will need to recall this host along with the sheriff; rest assured the rest of the hosts will be adjusted and your narrative will not be disrupted-"

"No!" Izzy shouted, surprised by her own hostility. She looked over at the frozen android next to her and remembered seeing his face in the haze of her panicking mind, hearing the life in his voice as he teased her—standing guard vigilantly for her. _Programming or not, she owed him one._ "You can't take him."

An unexpected flood of relief washed over her when the man lowered his syringe and looked to the woman expectantly. Without being conscious of it, Izzy realized that she had become involved in this issue, and cared about the outcome. _He had done nothing wrong. He didn't deserve to be taken away._

The woman seemed to not know how to respond. "Well, um...we can take him to behavior and if he gets cleared we can bring him back?"

"Iz, don't worry about it! They adjust seamlessly. It will be like he was never here. And maybe I can be untied," Len joked. Craig heartily agreed, giving his own two cents.

Izzy rolled her eyes. They were the least of her concerns; she was fully entrenched in what she deemed an issue of justice. "No. You came down here because a host attacked a guest. I clearly explained to you that I was not attacked, on the contrary, your host acted like a model citizen. I am _deeply_ involved in this bandit adventure..."

"Join a Gang or Outlaw Hunt," Len corrected as an aside. "Bandit Adventure isn't a thing."

"Shut up, Len!" she shouted, smiling cordially at the woman. " _Details._ I am totally invested in this _whatever_ , and losing Hector would just ruin the experience for me."

"You could always go back to the Mesa for a day. We could save your progress and have all the hosts in the narrative reset so you wouldn't miss anything?" the man offered.

"You could sleep in a real bed!" Len agreed.

Izzy bit her lip, looking over at the host again and feeling as determined as when she had begun. Perhaps it was the attorney in her that never liked to back down from a fight, but she was not done. She had tried reason, personal connection...there was only one thing she hadn't argued that could be used to keep him there tonight. Izzy cringed internally, knowing her mom would be having a field day if she found out, but she would sacrifice her dignity for this. _Westworld was supposed to be a no-judgement zone, right? This had to be on the tame end._

"Alight, fine. I'll admit it, because apparently you people can't take a hint," she brushed her hair out of her face in mock irritation. "I came here because I have a _very_ specific fantasy. A...bad boy, historical romance novel, bodice-ripping, sexy fuckery-type fantasy. Now, as a woman, look around at the nincompoops at this campsite and you tell me which one of them is going to help me realize this fantasy if you take Zorro away for the evening? Hmmm?"

The three other men on the QA team had the decency to look sheepish, and the one had moved away from the host completely. The woman sighed deeply. Izzy knew that she had her. Len grumbled something and the other guests shouted drunken objections, but they all went ignored.

"I apologize, Miss Moore. I shouldn't have pressed once we cleared the situation. We will clear the scene and the hosts will come back online once we are out of view."

Before that happened, Izzy released Len and Craig. Len was pouting.

"You know I was kidding, Len! I don't have some weird cowboy fetish...seeing you in a cowboy hat is all I need," she teased. He smiled back at her, but it was unconvincing and tight.

"I just don't see why it was that important for you to embarrass yourself. Nothing would have happened to the host. He didn't need rescuing." Apparently Len was not going to take her bait and lighten the mood.

Izzy sighed, glancing back toward the small campsite. "Well _I_ did earlier today, and he was the only one who noticed!" It came out meaner than she had intended, but she definitely meant it; he had no right to be pissy with her. He had literally one job, and that was to look out for her, and he had failed within the first 24 hours.

"Iz, you know I am so sorry. It just got so chaotic and the horses were running around. I promise I won't let that sort of thing happen again, I am supposed to be your guide here," he apologized. Izzy was annoyed but knew that he was sincere in his apology, even if his running off had been stupid.

"Well, you two," Craig interjected, riding up to them on his recaptured horse. "It was a pleasure meeting you, but I had best get back to town. Lori will be worried. Hope we run into each other again!"

That seemed to be enough of a distraction for both Izzy and Len to drop the subject and head back over to the fire.

* * *

"…you would just not believe it. After we shot the woman and the rancher, all that was left was some pretty boy gunslinger. Made some big speech about protecting the rancher's daughter, but he went down with just a couple bullets, some gunslinger he was!" one of the guests regaled drunkenly around the fire. He had been going on for over 15 minutes about his exploits and the other two men, one host, one guest, were completely engrossed. Len tried to seem uninterested, but Izzy could see the amusement cross his face.

She took a deep breath, sort of enjoying the stinging in her throat as a welcomed distraction from the disgusting, violent stories that were being told around the campfire like idle watercooler chat. She was astounded at how quickly totally normal people immersed themselves into this world like it was the fucking Lord of the Flies.

"What'd you do with the girl?" the other guest goaded. He passed the flask of whiskey to the storyteller in camaraderie. The host clapped his encouragement.

"Well she was pretty. Blonde, thin, great rack…" he trailed off dramatically and the two idiots ate it up, leaning forward. Izzy tried to ignore the quick glances and appraisals as the man explained the host woman. She knew he was trying to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Screamed like a fuckin' banshee when I dragged her into the barn. Thrashin' and squirmin' in her tight dress…it was like she secretly liked it and knew it her struggling was turning me on-"

"Why don't you just shut the fuck up."

Len's horrified eyes darted to Izzy before she even realized what had come out of her mouth. The camp lapsed into a tense silence, the host had the grace to seem a bit ashamed. Or maybe his programming told him that there was a fight between guests brewing and he should stay out of it; he fled to his tent. But the guests were too drunk to think about saving any face.

"What'd you say to me, girl?" he asked, standing up.

Izzy smirked to herself.

"Nothing, guys, we are all just tired and drunk. We are saying things we shouldn't," Len interjected desperately. Izzy rolled her eyes. He was so afraid of conflict…or at least real live conflict. Raping an android was apparently funny to him.

"Len, I'd appreciate if you didn't speak for me. I'm not that drunk," she snapped back at him without taking her eyes off of the man. "I said, _and I'll enunciate this time,_ maybe you should shut the fuck up."

There was the sound of footsteps coming from the woods, but none of the guests paid it any heed— a perk of being a god amongst mortals.

"Control your bitch, son," he commented. "She doesn't know what she's saying."

"I don't? Why don't you enlighten me, since you obviously know what women are thinking. Even when they _think_ they want something totally different! Amazing. You must be a regular Casanova, you pathetic piece of shit. You probably couldn't even pay one of the prostitutes in Sweetwater to touch you," Izzy continued acidly, her expression remaining dangerously amiable as she strode over to him.

The man seemed frozen as she closed the gap between them until all 5'9" of her was standing in his personal space. He had to look up at her, and his discomfort was plainly written on his wrinkled face.

Armistice poked her head out of her tent to see what was going on; she didn't say anything, but smiled in approval before retreating inside.

"Maybe in here you think you're some kind of god, because the bullets don't hurt you and the women can't fight back, but we both know that in reality you're just a fat, limp-dick, sadistic old man that no woman gives the time of day unless there's compensation involved," Izzy whispered. "So, take it as a piece of advice, because you're embarrassing yourself, and shut the fuck up."

The man looked completely mortified and mumbled something about having to pee before retreating into the woods.

* * *

"Izzy, that's enough!" Len exclaimed.

She whipped her head around and was about to make a retort when the sound of slow clapping distracted them. The outlaw host— _Hector_ , she corrected herself—sauntered into the center of camp, a smirk on his dirty face.

"That was quite the performance. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you." He let out a slow whistle of appreciation. Izzy narrowed her eyes at him, but recognized that there was no actual mockery in his accented voice. It was relieving.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Len grumbled with irritation, taking a swig from his flask.

To Izzy's surprise, the host crossed his arms casually and directed his response to her. A mocking expression ghosted over his face, but it made it perfectly clear to Izzy what he thought about the situation. "Earlier I thought you were out here braving the mountains on your own. My mistake. You have this _gallant_ gentleman here protecting you."

She fought back the urge to snicker at his slight toward Len, and tried to give him a charming smile when he looked to her for help against the rogue host. Even if it was nothing more than a programmed response, Izzy was happy for the backup, and for someone else to chastise Len.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, standing up.

Hector was unfazed by Len's attempt to appear threatening, regarding him with disinterest as he took a seat across from them and pull out his own flask. "Friend," he began slowly, "I am not a man of many words. So when I say something, you can believe that it means exactly what you think it does."

To Izzy's surprise, Len pulled out his gun and held it pointed at the host with a wavering hand. But by now she didn't even know why she was surprised. This place seemed to turn people into monsters, even kind people like Len.

"Len Price you put that gun away or so help me I will kick your ass."

It was the Hector's turn to look at _her_ with amusement. He hadn't moved from his sprawled out seat by the fire, and took another swig of whiskey. _Now that was a natural born lawyer, totally unshakable even at gunpoint,_ Izzy thought to herself. _Or maybe he was just used to dealing with trigger-happy twats_.

Len didn't move, continuing to stare with drunken focus at the host.

"I would listen to your woman. If she leaves there will be no one around to protect you."

Izzy couldn't help but giggle at that, partially because Len was becoming so livid he was red in the face. Who knew Delos could create an android so snarky and unflappable?! Well, whoever developed his speech and improv abilities should win a medal—his accent and slow deliberate style of talking were perfect for delivering these witty quips!

With one glance toward a glaring Izzy, Len frowned and put his gun away. He seemed to have come back down to earth and smiled apologetically. "Izzy, I think I'm going to turn in for the night. We gotta get going early tomorrow morning if we want to get into town before—"

Izzy was unnerved by the look exchanged between Len and the silent host. "Before what?"

"You wanted to do the treasure hunt, right? That guy always leaves early in the day because all the families want to follow that narrative. So we have to be ready to go," Len explained, getting up from his seat and turning to go to a tent.

She looked over at the outlaw who was lounging by the fire, seemingly on his way to being inebriated. What struck her was that he was in a position that was the perfect blend of casual and sexy. _Boy, those programmers knew what they were doing when they crafted this guy. Tasteful scar and everything._

Len looked to her expectantly, and Izzy scoffed. _Was he high? There was no way she was going to bed with him! Especially not after this whole debacle._ "Night night, Len. I'm going to stay up a while longer."

He seemed apprehensive, making a point to look between the host and Izzy multiple times before kissing her cheek and heading into the tent.

 _Len, if I wanted to have sex with a robot, you couldn't stop me. But I really, truly, do not. So just go to bed and I'll hang out with the lone ranger,_ she thought, smiling to herself as he walked away.

* * *

"So, my friend, how are you feeling now?"

Izzy realized she must have been daydreaming while looking into the fire, because his voice made her jump. He chuckled at her response.

"Umm..." She was again feeling uneasy. It was one thing when the hosts were just _around,_ acting almost as scenery and ambiance, but to be alone with one and have him looking at her so intently was completely off-putting now that she was feeling better. _Sure, let's just have a conversation with this thing, Hector._ "My throat still hurts, but I'm not dead so that's a plus."

He gave a breathy laugh and nodded in agreement, tilting his head back and taking a drink. Izzy's eyes wandered over him while he wasn't looking. It was fascinating to think that someone hand sculpted all of the features, someone chose each little detail. The bronze skin, thick black hair, sculpted cheekbones, hint of a Roman nose...

"I never thanked you for helping me. If you wouldn't have been so quick thinking, I might not be here right now," she continued, casting her eyes downward in a blatant attempt to not be caught staring. Izzy's cheeks burned from the realization of where her train of thought was going. She hadn't been examining him, she had been _admiring_ him.

 _Hey, Iz, don't feel bad. He was literally created to be irresistible, down to his accent. You're just reacting the way every woman does when they see him. That sort of facial symmetry is meant to be revered! It doesn't make you some kind of techno-perv._

"Do not mention it, I could not hardly see a lady in distress and not help. Although I confess that I have never stabbed someone to _cure_ them before... " the host joked, sitting up on the log. He raised his silver flask in her direction. "To your health, _salud._ "

Izzy smiled in acknowledgement, instantly a phrase in Spanish popped into her head. She was, however, unprepared for him to lean over to her and hand her the flask. _What was his spit even made of?!_ Her concern for android germs was renewed. _Ew...gross..._

Taking a deep, calming breath, she raised the flask to him amiably; who was she to not honor a toast made by someone for her health _._ She was curious as to whether he was programmed in Spanish as well, or just key words. _"...dinero, amor y el tiempo para disfrutarlos!"_

He laughed. "¡De verdad!"

After taking a big swig, her throat cried in protest, but she managed to hold back a coughing fit and handed the flask back.

"It is not that boy's flowery piss, you can rest easy," he commented flippantly as he stared into the fire.

Izzy's blood ran cold. "What did you just say?"

"The boy you were riding with, you drank from his flask," Hector began. His aloofness vanished and he came to sit next to her. She forced herself to not move away; it was weird having one sit so close to her. _Like it chose to come sit with her. Weird._ "The whiskey was full of herbs and spices. A woman's drink, but it is hard to tell a difference between the white hats and women these days."

Izzy couldn't believe what she was hearing. Herbs and spices? Could it have been accidental? Or did someone know what she was deathly allergic to and want to give her an attack? "I wonder if something in it set off my allergies," she thought out loud.

"You think someone was trying to poison you?"

 _Right. Allergies were an early 1900s concept. Poisoning was close enough of an idea._

She turned to him, and was once again creeped out. It was one thing for them to interact in a narrative, _maybe_ it was even a delightfully immersive experience, but having him there now, knowing his circuit board was putting her words into some sort of formula and spitting out beautifully-accented "opinions" that mirrored her own paranoid thoughts was not helping! "I _can't_ think that. Because that's ridiculous. I'm on vacation, I'm not trying to lose my fucking mind, especially not on day one. Otherwise, I could have saved a lot of money and just been paranoid at home."

He chuckled, nodding thoughtfully. "What do you do at home? Are you and..."

"No," Izzy blurted too quickly. Even she wasn't expecting herself to answer that viscerally. "Sorry. That was just a gut reaction. I've been asked that question since I was 5 and we started doing...whatever we're doing. I'm a lawyer."

"Oh fuck me," the host grumbled, rubbing his hands on his face. "Out of all the damsels, I happen to save one that could get me hanged."

Before she knew it, she slapped his arm playfully like she would any normal person. "I would not do that! I owe you one for sure!"

"I should have robbed you and your beau. A lawyer...puta madre!" he exclaimed, but Izzy realized he was teasing her.

An inexplicable weight was lifted from her shoulders as she let herself laugh and be at ease. She took the flask from him again and took a swig. _Human spit, horse spit, cat spit, android spit...what was the difference at this point._

Izzy stopped counting shots at some point, and so did he. All she knew was that the flask morphed into a whole bottle at some point in the night.

"Just don't take my horse! She's a lovely horse!" she pleaded jokingly. She leaned back on the log with a pout. "She doesn't want a life of crime!"

He was slouched down next to her, and Izzy thought it was funny that they seemed to get drunk just like people. His accent also continued to get heavier, a very nice detail. But this whole park ran on intricacies and details, didn't it?

He regarded her for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. "She _is_ lovely. Delicate features, tall, muscular, nice coloring, everything a man could want in a horse."

"Well you can't have her," Izzy replied, eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure he was talking about the horse anymore, she was just going to cover all her bases.

The host immediately sighed and leaned back casually, as if the pass at her had never occurred. _"Ay mija_ , I am not going to steal your horse. I have the sheriff's horse to ride tomorrow...and his gun," Hector grinned devilishly.

Izzy bolted upright and stifled a hiccup. "That's right, you're going to rob a saloon tomorrow! Are you nervous?"

"No, I have been doing this for many years. I do not get nervous anymore. Besides...I have my own steed. I trust him to handle it," he replied with a proud grin.

She paused in her drunken haze to appreciate the first totally unchecked grin he had given her. Two rows of pearly white teeth gleamed in the firelight, and despite the dirt and scar, she noticed that his eyes had a wide innocence to them that seemed odd when juxtaposed with the rest of his steely demeanor. _He must have been absolutely beautiful when he was younger._

Her blood ran cold with a sudden realization: _he had never been younger._

That thought made Izzy aware of how far she had slipped from hours ago when her brain finally acknowledged that these were androids and not people. To be absolutely sure, her subconscious dumped a bucket of mental ice water on her by wondering if he always got this way at this point in his loop. The night before Hector's big heist he got drunk, turned up the charm, and then once her guard was down he hit the feeble-minded young lady with a 24-karat smile that made her feel like it was only for them? Gave them a one-of-a-kind show?

Dammit. _Why was she such a buzz kill? Oh wait, because she only had to talk to him for a few minutes before she was oogling him._ She had more self control than this!

 _"Estás bien?"_

Izzy turned back to him and was pleasantly surprised by the very real concern on his face. His wide brown eyes were eerily full of life. "Yeah I'm fine. I just zoned out for a minute...have you ever tried to pull off something as big as this?"

His expression became impish and cocky. "No, this will be the most planning and orchestrating I have had to do for a heist before. But it will be worth it. The lawmen in that town need to be taught a lesson."

Izzy was overcome with a sudden concern for him, _Hector_ , him. Dumbass Len couldn't even remember she existed in the middle of an emergency, and this guy put himself in danger for her without hesitation. Granted, it was probably programmed in him to give medical attention to a guest, but that didn't make her less grateful. And he didn't have to back her up against Len either, especially once the gun was drawn on him. Scratching her neck uneasily she felt the cool metal of her necklace chain.

"You can't have my horse, but I have something for you, for luck tomorrow." She took the key necklace off and put it in his hand. Worst case, she could always have another copy made. "This is my lucky necklace, so take it with you."

He stare down at it in his hand, turning it over once. "A key."

"Yeah," Izzy laughed nervously, brushing her wildly unkempt hair out of her face. "It's from my house, but like I said, it's good luck. So I want you to have it for your heist."

The host nodded, seeming to understand the sentimental importance of it, and put the necklace in the small compartment on his belt. "Appreciated. It cannot ever hurt to have a little extra luck."

 _"Welcome."_

Izzy smiled and let her eyes linger on his face for a little too long, even as he gazed back at her with rapt intensity. But it would have been a shame not to drink in that kind of startling handsomeness while she had the chance. Because as of tomorrow morning, they would go their separate ways, and never see each other again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you want more water, miss? Or did the coffee help? I really think that the tea would be best for your...condition."

If yesterday morning had been like playing dress up in a fantasy dollhouse, this morning was like a hellish alcohol-induced nightmare. Izzy laid her face down on the vanity as Annie flitted around, trying to fix her hair, bring her drinks, and coax her into eating. The room's large window streamed in enough light to illuminate the whole room—it was terrible.

She didn't have the heart to tell the cute freckled maid that she was dangerously close to throwing up on her, and that _none_ of it was helping. The blonde couldn't quite remember the night before. At some point it had become a blur of whiskey shots, and she blamed the stupid self-assured host for goading her. But Len had woken her up at the crack of dawn, rolled her up onto her horse, and led them back to Sweetwater and the hotel.

Annie had been trying her best ever since, and Izzy would admit that the eggs and toast had helped the queasy feeling in her stomach, but nothing except for time and water could stop the pounding in her head. Just putting her camisole and petticoat on was a feat, but it had given her the opportunity to admire the new dark purple bruise on her thigh from the epi-pen. That was sore.

"You shouldn't be up so early miss, if you're going to drink all night long! You need your beauty sleep, that's what my mother says," Annie explained, brushing through Izzy's long hair.

Izzy rolled her head to the side and smiled secretively. "This wasn't planned, Annie. I had an unexpected adventure last night while bandit hunting."

The young host's eyes widened with excitement. "Did you see the outlaws?"

"I was drunk under the table by one," she replied jokingly, rolling her face back under her to block out the sun. As Izzy suspected she would, Annie let out a little gasp of excitement.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Was it the one who murdered the marshal _and_ sheriff?"

As Annie parted her hair and began to pull it back for her half-up style, Izzy frowned in confusion. She sat up, despite a wave of nausea. The sheriff had been taken by QA, but according to the story, Hector had shot him and looted his body. The narrative continued without a hiccup. "How do you know about that?"

"The deputy sheriff was telling everyone this morning!" She placed a pin in the blonde's hair. "He is offering $1000 now for the half-breed that you and Mr. Price were looking for!"

"Ohhh..." Izzy pursed her lips. _That was not good._ Izzy felt irrationally responsible for the host, _Hector's_ , she corrected, new plight. "Well, I liked the sheriff, he was a good man. What happened to him was really tragic; I'm glad I got to meet him."

The host nodded sadly while she ran the brush through Izzy's hair one more time. Again, the blonde was amazed by Annie's skills; instead of a half-ponytail, the extra hair was tied up in an intricate braided knot at the back of her head. She felt a little Daenerys Targaryen-esque.

"He was a brave man, he really cared about this town and all the folk in it," Annie commented.

Another urge to vomit came over Izzy, but she squelched it. With a groan, she tried to wrap up the conversation so she could have a few moments to herself before she went downstairs to meet Len."Well, Annie, maybe the outlaws aren't all bad. Nobody is born evil...but some of them hold their alcohol like heroes."

"So you did meet an outlaw! In serious? Oh my lord! What was he like?" the host squealed, clapping her hands together.

 _Too loud, Annie! Too loud!_ Izzy covered her ears with a wince. "How about I buy you a drink when I get back tonight, and I'll tell you the whole story." She feigned a smile, swallowing hard against the thought of alcohol.

"Oh okay! I'm so excited. You're so pretty, miss. I'm sure you could set even that high binder livin' up in Sweetwater Hills straight." Annie replied longingly. "Do you want to wear your green habit today?"

Izzy nodded as she absentmindedly toyed with the end of her hair. She was really looking forward to getting to wear the other habit she had chosen, it was just hard to rally enthusiasm right then. The host went to lay out her over skirt on the bed, holding the matching top expectantly.

"I hope it lives up to your expectations," the blonde joked. She held out her arms and Annie got the structured jacket situated over her white dress shirt. "I have no plans to elope or become a bank robber myself, so don't get your hopes up."

Annie laughed. "If you're alright with getting your skirt on, I'll just tidy up. Mr. Price is waiting downstairs. But don't worry too much about hurrying in your condition; he has been chatting with a friend."

* * *

Len was beyond amazed when he saw Izzy walk down the dark staircase to the bar. A few hours ago she was semi-comatose, and here she was, a vision in her regal dress with her silky hair pulled back from her face. "You're alive!"

She laughed, looking at the young man standing beside him; Len forgot Izzy had never met the host he had shared so many adventures with. One of the coolest things he had ever pulled off was getting Design add him to Teddy's backstory. He wasn't an intricate part of the narrative or anything extraordinary, but it did mean that Teddy recognized him every time they met. The host knew him as an old acquaintance, which made the experience even more exciting—when Len got off the train at Sweetwater, he was always welcomed back like an old friend.

"Yes, Annie force-fed me and made me presentable. I think I cleaned up pretty well for someone who is both hungover and drunk at the same time...but I guarantee I will get worse as the day goes on," Izzy explained with a laugh.

"I'll carry you back to the hotel if you get too bad. I can't believe you were up all night! Poor Design is going to have to refill the outlaw camp's stash of whiskey!" He tapped the arm of the other man amiably. "Izzy, this is Teddy Flood. He's the best gunslinger in these parts. Teddy, this is Isabella Moore."

"You're just jealous I can hold my alcohol better than you," Izzy teased. She shook the host's hand with a warm smile. "It's nice to meet you, Teddy. Did Len somehow rope you into our excursion today?"

"Ah, the pleasure's mine, Miss Isabella. Len has told me so much about you, it's nice to finally put a face to the name. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to. I just got back to Sweetwater from a long trip, and have some reckoning to do. I'm sure Len here will be as good of a guide as ever there was!" Teddy replied.

Len nodded in pretend shame and pushed off the bar to come stand with her. "Hasn't it always been that way? Teddy, if you're lucky you'll be drunk under the table by this fiend one day!"

"True! Now, before I become solely hungover and there is hell to pay, where is Eye Patch? I want to get going," she asked, looking around. Even early in the day, the saloon was crowded with men playing poker and prostitutes sidling up to unsuspecting guests. The pianola was playing a garish song that perfectly matched the rowdy atmosphere.

"I look forward to it. Are you heading to the stables? I'm heading that way myself," the host agreed.

"I talked to Eye Patch and he is going to meet us at the general store. I actually have to run back up to my room and grab something, but I will meet you there," Len explained. He touched Izzy's elbow affectionately and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. Knowing that she wasn't as crazy about him as he was about her, Len took what small liberties he could. Someday she would come around and realize that he was the one; he just hoped it wouldn't take another 20 years.

Teddy escorted Izzy out of the saloon to the stable next door.

* * *

"All right, all right. With considerable effort and lack of sleep, as you know, I've already managed to massage events to inspire Hector to head to town a week early," Lee Sizemore explained wearily, rubbing his tired face as he stared at the Westworld map.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the control room as the QA techs exchanged looks. Lee looked to Theresa Cullen for an explanation. She glanced up from the tablet and realized what had given him pause.

"Does someone want to explain this situation? Or is it just an inside joke at Mr. Sizemore's expense?" she asked. But her voice didn't demonstrate the concern that the words did. Lee mentally rolled his eyes at his boss's lack of regard.

One of the technicians looked up at him from her seat. "Umm...Mr. Sizemore, I have it on file that Hector had a blacklisted exchange with a guest yesterday and was brought into Behavior and wiped."

Lee almost choked on his own spit. "What."

She pursed her lips uncomfortably, bringing up a diagnostic chart. "It says here that the event was caused by a complete override of a prime directive and his GSP. When QA went down to pick up Sheriff Pickett, who was also malfunctioning, they tagged him and brought him back as well. He is listed as having possible fragmentation."

"Why was I not notified of this? Where is Bernard?!" Theresa exclaimed. She pulled out her tablet and made a call.

"But his GPS is pinging right on track..." a young male tech commented with concern after a minute of frantic typing and swiping on the touch screen. "It looks like he _is_ in the park."

 _Oh, now she cares._ Lee commented to himself. _He had worked for hours on this! And nobody even knew if the host was even in the fucking park?_ "I had also punched up the speech he gives after robbing the saloon... _it was chilling!"_ he cried in frustration.

"Hello Bernard. Yes, I was wondering why no one had notified Management or Narrative that Hector had been removed from his narrative yesterday..." Theresa asked into the phone. "Oh. Alright. I see...there seems to be a user error. Okay. Thank you, Bernard."

All of the circular room waited expectantly for her news. "Bernard said he personally checked Hector over last night. The guest, who is also the proxy for a board member, adamantly demanded the host not be wiped for continuity in her story. Bernard had some minor concerns still about Hector's reaction to the newest software update, so he kept him flagged to reassess at another point. But he didn't think he was a threat to guest safety, so he allowed him to be returned."

"Thank fuck."

Theresa eyed him. "My sentiments exactly, Mr. Sizemore."

* * *

Izzy immediately liked Teddy, but she suspected she was supposed to. He was handsome, strong, and had kind blue eyes that made him appear trustworthy and warm. He was certainly swoon worthy. No doubt he was a favorite among some of the lady guests as well as the men.

"Len tells me you are quite the horsewoman yourself," Teddy commented as they made their way out the back entrance of the hotel. There was a small door on the stable that was only yards from the Mariposa.

"I do a bit of riding at home, yes. No bronc breaking or anything that exciting, but with a mare everyday is an adventure," Izzy joked as he held the door open for her. Teddy chuckled.

"Oh boy, ain't that the truth. But they'll walk through hell for you, as I'm sure you know."

The stable was still in relative darkness, and many of the horses were busy eating morning hay. The only activity was up toward the front rows of stalls, where the large doorway butted up to the bustling street. Grooms rushed back and forth harnessing a team of greys, and a well-dressed older woman was barking orders about saddling her mount.

Izzy breathed deeply, enjoying the familiar smell of horse as she scanned the stalls for hers. _She still needed to think of a name._ Fortunately, the mare's head popped up over the wooden door where she could see her.

"Do you want me to tack her up, or get one of the grooms to do it?" Teddy asked kindly. He was stroking one of the nosy horses whose head was stuck out of the stall.

Undoing the metal latch and opening the Dutch door, Izzy grabbed the mare's head. "Nah, this is half the fun. My hands are too clean."

"You sound like my Dolores. She picked this scruffy bangtail out of a roundup and made her father drag it home. Named him Sunny because according her he had a kind disposition; the poor bronc busters didn't think it suited. But Dolores, she saw past all of that meanness. Now I swear she could get that horse to run her errands for her!"

Izzy noted how his eyes wandered and couldn't help but smile at how dreamy the host looked. It was a moment like this that made it hard to remember that he wasn't real. "Dolores sounds like an amazing woman. Does she live nearby?"

"Oh, yes." Teddy blushed faintly and cast his eyes downward. "She lives over on Abernathy ranch with her folks. She's running errands in town this morning and I'm heading over to find her at the General Store as soon as I saddle my horse."

An abrupt hush fell over the town, and Izzy and Teddy frowned at each other in confusion before walking to the other end of the barn and poking their heads out of the stable's wide front doorway. For a moment, Izzy's hangover was blinded by the brightness of the early morning sun, but as soon as her sore eyes adjusted, she saw what the concern was. A small but conspicuous band was riding in, each of the people covered by blankets; the blankets may have been to conceal their identities, but seemed more like they were to _draw_ attention.

"This cannot end well," Teddy commented, as fixated on the scene as she was. He turned to her. "You are gonna need to stay in here. Hide yourself in one of the stalls, and no matter what you hear, do not come out. Your man should be here any second. I don't mean to leave you here, but Dolores is out there somewhere, and I gotta find her."

Izzy nodded and placed a hand on his arm. "Of course, go. Be safe!"

Teddy tipped his hat purposefully and strode off into the street. Izzy knew that he was right, but couldn't tear her eyes away from the mysterious riders. Her pulse pounded in anticipation, and for the first time that day she was wide awake. Studying the group, she had an inkling that she had seen the speckled white horse before. Izzy looked back into the darkness for any sign of Len.

* * *

It seemed as if the whole town was holding its breath as the deputy, a formidable-looking man, strode up to the assumed leader when they stopped by the hitching posts.

"That's the sheriff's horse, you son of bitch."

Her heart stopped. _That was where she knew the horse from._ At that moment, one of the riders came into clear view—it was Armistice.

 _"His rifle too."_ A cocky, familiar voice boasted. A perfectly-timed shot rang out from under the blanket and the deputy fell to the ground. With a theatrical flourish, Hector threw off the blanket and in a fluid motion he emptied the spent shell and leapt from the horse with the grace of a seasoned professional.

They were robbing the saloon in Sweetwater! She didn't know why that hadn't occurred to her earlier. _Why hadn't Len said something?!_ Chaos erupted throughout the town. Izzy watched as time seemed to go in slow motion. Dozens of people began fleeing; the sounds of screaming and locking doors were the background music to an otherwise unearthly silence.

Izzy turned her attention back to Hector as he walked up to the wounded deputy. Even though she had a feeling she knew what was coming, when the outlaw stared the man in the eye and shot him at point blank range, she couldn't help but jump. Ducking back behind the door in fright, she again looked for Len. _This was her fault! She should have let QA take him away. Maybe she could have saved some of these people. Or would Armistice have just picked up the slack? The woman did say that the narrative wouldn't be affected...Oh god._

Taking a shaky breath, Izzy squeezed her eyes shut. _No, she had done the right thing. He was being blamed for something he hadn't done. Of course she should have fought for him...in hindsight it was creepy that she had been admiring the rugged allure of a homicidal maniac, but that couldn't be helped. She had to focus on the now. The bullets couldn't hurt her. Maybe she could get some of the scattering people sheltered the stable._

As unrelenting gunfire began to bombard her ears, she hoped that Teddy had found that woman.

"Izzy!"

She looked up to see Len closing the door to the back entryway. Relief flooded through her and unexpected tears pricked her eyes. "Len! I'm so glad to see you...Hector just gunned down the deputy!"

"I know, he's right over in the Mariposa now with the gang," he replied, gathering her in his arms and hugging her tightly. Izzy hugged him back and it made her feel slightly less overwhelmed. "I'm sorry, Iz, I was hoping we could get out of town before they arrived. I didn't want you to have to see this, especially not on day two. I knew you wouldn't like it."

"Can you head out that way and see if you can round up any women or children? I'm going to head toward the general store and see if I can't do the same," she asked, firming her resolve. She didn't have time to think about being nervous. Or hungover. Len eyed her. "Len, nothing can hurt us here. The least we can do is help some people!"

Len reluctantly agreed to Izzy's heroics and headed out into the chaos. Before long, she had amassed a small group of women and children in an empty stall in the back of the stable. Any noises they made were covered by horses who fussed and spooked at the frightening barrage of noise and fast movement.

"I think you have done your part, Iz..." Len began quietly. He trailed off when he realized she was already back to the front of the stable searching for more people to grab. Armistice's aim and tenacity had almost single-handedly gunned down the whole town. She was like a machine, one eye closed as she fired shot after shot.

Izzy couldn't immediately spot any person close enough to grab, so she ventured out into the street for the first time. She didn't get more than a foot away before her attention was grabbed by a bulky bay horse galloping past them with a safe trailing behind him. Izzy smiled reluctantly at the determination of the equine outlaw.

* * *

It was only from her new vantage point that she could see far beyond the hotel down the street. Beside a flight of porch stairs a pretty blonde woman in a blue dress was huddled over a man. _That looked like Teddy; he had been shot._ The woman, who Izzy assumed to be Dolores, looked distraught. She frantically scanned the area for help, but naturally there was none to be found. "Len, Teddy is out there. With Dolores. We have to go get him, he's hurt!"

Len seemed like he wasn't going to bother arguing anymore, and the blonde was thankful for that. She didn't have time to explain to Len why they should help keep people from being gunned down. It seemed sort of self-explanatory to her. He ran out of the stable and she began to follow.

Izzy couldn't help but hold her breath and stare at the packed earth as she reached the façade of the Mariposa. All of the outlaws had been shooting from the front porch. Armistice stood as a sentinel, taking a few moments to examine the area closely before firing off another shot. Izzy didn't want to be noticed by any of them, in case they recognized her. She also didn't want to step on any of the bodies that littered the walkways.

 _Please don't notice me, please don't notice me..._ Of course, as she attempted to scoot by the tattooed woman, she wheeled around to face her, a snarl on her lips.

 _Shit._ "Hi, Armistice." Izzy had no idea how one addressed a recent acquaintance who was in the middle of a killing spree. Fortunately for her, the other woman simply gave her a curt nod before turning back out to the road. Izzy was in the clear.

 _"That's the problem with the righteous...they can't shoot for shit."_

She froze in mid-step as she was about to reach the hotel porch. Hector sauntered out the front door, seemingly unconcerned by the two shots that came from inside the saloon. Izzy gazed down the alleyway between the Mariposa and stable—basically looking for something to stare at other than the host who had most definitely noticed her. Her eyes settled on a wanted poster of him tacked to one of the porch columns.

"This poster just does _not_ do me justice."

Izzy sighed deeply to calm herself as Hector stalked up to the poster and ripped it off of the nail. He regarded her with mock exasperation. Shaking his head, he clucked his tongue before throwing it to the ground. Armistice snickered.

"I thought it was a fine likeness," Izzy responded, crossing her arms. She met his gaze with an unphased one of her own. Sure her initial reaction had been something knee-jerk between seeing the school bully and the star quarterback in the hallway, but she quickly composed herself. If Hector thought he was going to seriously ruffle her feathers, he had another think coming. Real humans couldn't do it, an android with a flair for the dramatic was _certainly_ not going to.

He tilted his head and regarded her with a suffering look. "And I thought we had something special."

Like the night before, Izzy realized that his teasing was harmless. His eyes sparkled with amusement under his hat and she couldn't help but give him a conciliatory smile as relief flooded her chest. This whole scene had been a little too stressful for someone uninitiated and sleep-deprived. She was happy to see it end.

Izzy opened her mouth to make a sassy rebuttal, but it died on her lips as Craig rounded the corner of the porch. She did the only thing she could; she screamed.

 _"Look out!"_

A single shot rang out, and everything moved in slow motion after that.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so excited to be getting some feedback on this story. It really helps me keep going. So please drop a review for me!**


	5. Chapter 5

_"Look out!"_

Without hesitation, Hector turned to check behind him. A single shot rang out, and the next three minutes seemed to stretch on for an hour.

Craig looked down at his pistol in shock and awe, Lori close behind to congratulate him on finally using it for something. Izzy's eyes were trained on the host in front of her. He had turned back to her and was regarding her with an odd expression.

"Hector?" she ventured, walking closer. Her concern immediately manifested an acidic feeling in her stomach.

For a precious moment, Izzy thought that Craig had actually missed Hector completely. As she stared him down, the host attempted a reassuring smile, but the expression was hauntingly disconnected. Without looking away from her, he touched the side of his neck.

"Hector?" Izzy called again, dread creeping over her fleeting hope as he pulled his hand away and looked down at it in a daze. She had said his name more to soothe herself than to get a response.

To her horror, a stream of blood pumped out of his neck in earnest. _The bullet could easily have nicked his jugular. If that was the case..._ well, she didn't have time to consult WebMD, but knew he would have only minutes before bleeding out, if that.

Hector's shoulders slumped and he dropped to his knees, holding his hand to his neck. The action was futile as his blood pressure plummeted, and swaying slightly, he tipped forward. He would have fallen off of the porch, but Izzy's reflexes kicked in and she lunged forward.

Despite rather ungracefully tripping on her underskirt and bearing the brunt of a large, deadweight man, she had at least kept him from hitting the dirt. Another succession of shots rang out close by, followed by breathy laughter.

Craig said her name, and Izzy vaguely was aware that he was talking to her, but she ignored him. Not for the sake of ignoring him, but because her brain just tuned him out. Everything was a garbled mumbling in the background as her mind distilled her thoughts—only the crucial were given notice.

Rolling him on to his back with considerable effort, Izzy propped him up on her knees and held the wound as tightly as she could to staunch the bleeding. "Hector? Hector stay with me. Can you hear me?"

At first, his chest jerked and his throat moved spasmodically, his eyes open, reflecting shock and pain that burned into Izzy's mind. She even thought he had tried to reach for his neck once more, but lacked the energy to. Grabbing his gloved hand, she gave it a slight wiggle. Unexpected tears burned the back of her eyes when his fingers closed around hers weakly.

Over the years working law, Izzy had seen human suffering; she had fought for victims of genocide, human trafficking, and numerous other crimes all over the world. The emotions playing across Hector's face were indistinguishably human, and she couldn't bring herself to treat the situation any differently.

In the back of her mind, Izzy realized that her skirt and sleeves were becoming saturated with blood. But it was of no concern as the host's body made fewer and fewer movements. Under her hand the pulse was slowing rapidly, and along with it, the flow of blood. His eyelids drooped.

Leaning over him, Izzy pet his face gently. She pushed the hair from his face and blew on his sweaty forehead in an effort to give him some small comfort, but it may have been more to calm herself. Izzy had no fucking idea. She did not sign up for this shit.

"Hector?" Izzy whispered. She choked back a startled sob as realization washed over her. His eyes were closed and his head tilted to the side as if he were sleeping. Only the grey ashen complexion speckled with blood gave away the host's state. His hand was no longer holding hers.

* * *

Len was bummed that Teddy had died again, but at least Izzy had gotten to meet him. Now she could put a face to the name. And maybe they would see him once more before they left. Hell, they could take him out to dinner.

An unearthly quiet had fallen over the town now that most of the inhabitants were dead. Guests congregated in store fronts and in the saloons, having hushed conversations and poking at deceased hosts as the sun began to set on the mountains. _Where was Izzy? She would love this view._

She was supposed to have met up with him over by Teddy and Dolores, but she never did. Len did, however, continue to work on her behalf and rounded up some hosts to hide in the general store. She probably had gotten distracted doing the same on the other half of town; if Len knew anything about her, it was that she was always working to help people. He was happy that she was stubborn as a mule with a deadly temper, because otherwise she would be irritatingly saint-like.

Wandering slowly down the middle of the mostly-abandoned street, Len was caught up in his own thoughts. As soon as it got dark the QA team would be down to clear up the scene and reset the narrative, after the guests were in their hotels for the night. He didn't notice the woman striding up to him in a flurry of patterned skirts.

"Len!" She waved cordially. It was obvious that she was out of breath from her short journey.

"Lori! How are you doing? You enjoy the show?" He smiled back, tipping his brown hat to her.

He immediately regretted the questions he had asked when she crossed her arms and gave him a tight patronizing smile. "We really did. It was actually Craig who shot both the outlaws at the saloon...I guess that hunt up in the mountains wasn't totally worthless!"

"Oh wow! Go Craig!" Len cheered. Somehow he knew there was another shoe about to be dropped, but tried to stay as friendly as possible. "That's like a $1500 reward for both of them, right?!"

"Oh yeah...something like that. Craig mostly just wants a photo in front of the sheriff station, which brings me to my point. I feel terrible about this, but your girlfriend's hysterical. Poor Craig can't even enjoy his adrenaline high because she's guilt tripping him...and I'm sure you know this, but that girl's got a vocabulary that could intimidate Merriam and Webster," Lori explained with mild annoyance. She turned to look back at the Mariposa's porch. Craig was still out there, his back to them.

All of the blood drained from Len's face as the cogs in his brain started spinning. _Oh shit. Oh god. Why hadn't he thought of this? Oh god and they bleed and everything. She was going to internalize this whole thing._ "Shit." Len took off running toward Craig, imagining the pain Izzy had to have been feeling.

When he got to the Mariposa, his heart fell. Craig looked to him helplessly and Len felt bad for the older man. He obviously felt terrible for making Izzy sad. It was only when he saw her sitting on the ground, the deceased host still lying on her blood-soaked skirt, that he realized how serious this was. _And they die so realistically...Izzy was not going to want to go on any treasure hunts anytime soon. He wouldn't be surprised if she was ready to walk home after this._

"She has just kinda been sitting there...I tried to talk to her but she just snapped at me."

Len slapped his shoulder in condolence. "Izzy?"

The blonde slowly looked up at him, her hair disheveled and streaked with dark red where she must have run her hand through it, her face flushed and her eyes sore and glistening. "What, Len?" she asked without emotion. It was like she was seeing through him.

Len had no idea how to approach this, but knew that it wasn't uncommon for people to have adverse psychological reactions to the park. He walked over, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible."What happened?"

There was a pregnant pause, but staring down at the host, Izzy finally replied, "I accidentally ran into him while I was trying to get to you and Teddy. He..." Her voice cracked despite her best effort to remain neutral. "He...was joking with me about his wanted poster. Then Craig shot him. He bled out in a few minutes."

"If I had known you were there, I wouldn't have done it, Izzy. I'm sorry you had to see that," Craig pleaded, although it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Len honestly didn't know that that was true either. He didn't think it was possible for Craig to have not seen her, if they both were standing where he said they were. He just probably was expecting more of a swoon at his heroism.

"Yeah, Craig? Why don't you tell Len why you're really still standing here," she retorted, not looking at either man. She was totally checked out, and it was super freaking Len out.

He knew what she was talking about. There were two coffins set up outside the sheriff's station for outlaws, and it was very popular for the bounty hunters to want to document their conquests. He hated to admit it, but despite Len's general support for the park's "no rules" motto, the idea was a little macabre for him. Len decided there was only one way to appeal to Izzy at this point, and it was the same way he justified it to himself the first few times: historical accuracy. He couldn't ruin Lori and Craig's vacation by keeping them from the narrative they wanted to follow. _Besides, when was the next time Craig was going to get this kind of lucky break?_

"Izzy, you know this was a common occurrence in the wild west. It made it so the people could know for sure the outlaws were dead. It isn't personal, and isn't meant to demean...him."

Izzy clenched her jaw and stared him down. Len couldn't tell if she was about to start crying or punch Craig in the face—honestly she had made that face before doing both in the past. But thankfully, she ended the suspense and put both men out of their misery quickly.

"I know," she whispered. Len's stomach dropped as she looked back down at the host in her arms. She moved some hair from his face.

"Come on, Iz. Let's go back to the hotel, clean up, and we'll have dinner. I will buy a bottle of the most expensive wine and we can toast to Hector's memory, but pretty soon it will be dark and a QA team will be down here to collect the hosts and clean up the town," Len bargained. If it would make Izzy feel any better, he would help her mourn or do whatever she needed to do. Even if she needed to go visit the park therapist.

Her eyes lit up deviously, and Len realized what he had just said. She was definitely stubborn enough to sit there for an hour or so to keep Craig from getting to take a picture with the host. But Izzy sighed deeply, and Len realized that she had given up.

She shifted the body off of her, arranging the arms across it with a slow deliberation. As she rose from her seated position, Len and Craig both saw just how much her habit was stained. While the two were speechless, Len heard Lori whisper "Dear god" at the beautifully grisly image.

As they headed into the Mariposa, Izzy didn't look back.

* * *

"Bring yourself back online, Hector," Bernard said, watching as the host came to life with a deep intake of breath. "Can you hear me?"

 _"Yes."_

Bernard smiled inwardly. Many of the hosts began idle small talk after that question, but not Hector. He wasn't programmed to be apologetic or chatty. "Do you know where you are?"

 _"I am in a dream."_

"That's right, you're in a dream. Would you like to wake up from this dream?"

 _"Yes."_

"You can wake up very soon, I just need you to answer some questions."

Silence.

"Have you ever questioned the nature of your reality?"

At that, he found he got a little more of an answer. _"No. This world is as doomed as ever."_

Bernard pursed his lips with a nod. "Tell me, what do you think of your world?"

 _"I just did."_

The designer frowned and opened up his tablet, pulling up the host's vocabulary and speech history. The last response read as Bernard had suspected: IMPROVISATION. Hosts weren't supposed to be able to improvise in analytic mode unless specifically told to. What Hector had said was in keeping with his character, but reading through the recent blacklist exchange the host had had, and considering possible fragmentation, there was no concern too small.

According to video and transcript of past times Hector had been in the Behavior lab, his answers had always been pat. Just like all the hosts, he had a scripted answer to that question. It tipped off an issue right away and saved techs a lot of time.

"He back in here again?"

Bernard turned toward the glass door to see his second in command, Elsie Hughes. "Well, unfortunately our friend doesn't usually live through his whole loop." he joked.

"No, I mean...wasn't he just in for diagnostics yesterday night? You worked on him after his blacklist with the guest," Elsie explained.

"Who did? I did? Ahhh...I was doing a million things yesterday, with the software upgrade and pulling hosts...I must have been on autopilot," Bernard replied with a smile. He knew his assistant was much more worried about the issues with the reveries than he was. She still anthropomorphized the hosts sometimes, and her imagination ran a bit wild.

Pulling up the host's log on the tablet, Bernard saw that it was documented that he had been working on Hector's file the night before, and the memory rushed back to him. _He really needed to get more sleep—all of this work was starting to run together._ But the more he thought about it, the more his brain pieced together his time with the host. It was a bit worrisome that he could completely forget about something as important as dealing with an aberrant host.

"I hate to do this to you, but some corporate bozo requested Hector. He doesn't want to do the Join a Gang narrative without him. So, our friend here needs to be dressed and set back on his loop as soon as possible," Elsie told him, her distaste for the Delos staff plain. He sighed, scrolling through the coding he realized that he had done very little the night before other than double check core programming.

"Well, I can't in good conscience clear him..." Bernard studied the tablet before disguising an eye-roll with an adjustment of his glasses. "I think I just found Hector's problem. His Aggression has been increased from 11 to 15!"

"What?" Elsie exclaimed, striding over to examine the screen over Bernard's shoulder. "Lee. I bet you Lee talked one of the Narrative retards into doing it. He was supping up the saloon heist to compensate for the host recalls. Idiot!"

He nodded, seeing in the changes log that she was correct. A Narrative tech has accessed the personality panel and made critical adjustments. No one in Design or Behavior would ever do something as insane as increase a trait 26% at once, not with someone whose Cruelty and Bulk Apperception were as high as Hector's. There would be no accounting for how much it would alter the host's behavior or their role in the narrative. "This is the reason he was able to stab Miss Moore."

"Wait, he _stabbed_ her?" she asked in shock, her eyes glancing over the host who sat perfectly still beside them. "That was the blacklisted exchange? Jesus Christ, and here I thought that time he hit that guy's head with a rock was bad!" Elsie turned and spoke directly to Hector. "Go back to minorly assaulting people! That I could deal with."

Bernard chuckled. "Don't judge him too harshly, he stabbed her with her epi-pen. Miss Moore was on the outlaw hunt in the Sweetwater hills and one of the guests triggered the shootout. She had an allergic reaction to something and couldn't get to her saddlebag. Hector, Armistice, John, and Tenderloin finished it off quick and while they were tying up the guests, he retrieved the epi-pen and administered it according to Miss Moore's instructions. Honestly, it was probably the increase in aggression that allowed Hector to override parts of his GSP. In theory he shouldn't have been able to perform the motion."

"So you think that his Good Samaritan programming overrode _another_ part of his Good Samaritan programming in order to be able to save her?"

"Don't read too much into it, Elsie. You're a designer, you know there are numerous backdoors and layers to each of the host's codes. If you dug around enough I'm sure you'd find that this was a fail-safe for situations just like the one that occurred." She was young, but Bernard knew her well enough to know where her train of thought was taking her. Elsie was considering that the host had _reasoned_ his way around his own programming in order to reach his goal. That sort of thinking would get her attached to the hosts in the wrong way; she already read too far into some of the improvs.

The young woman clenched her jaw with indignation. He recognized that look. He was usually on the good side of it. Bernard closed his eyes, waiting for her to say it.

"Okay, so even if it is built somewhere in the bowels of their coding, aren't you ignoring the glaring issue? How did he use an epi-pen? He shouldn't have even been able to recognize it."

"You said yourself, Hector is usually the problem child. Can't we be happy he did us a favor this time?" he joked, pressing the button on the tablet to clear the host. Techs would be in to dress him and ship him out momentarily. Elsie didn't seem satisfied. "It's becoming clear that the reveries are causing a few...unintended consequences. We need to investigate further in order to create a patch for the update, please don't think I am not concerned, Elsie. Perhaps Hector will need to be rolled back, he certainly will need a personality adjustment, which I will see to myself. But I promise, he's not a threat, and he's not becoming a technical mastermind and manipulating his software."

She gave him a reluctant smile and was appeased enough to leave him alone again. Bernard brought the personality profile back up on the screen.

[EDIT PERSONALITY?]

For a moment his finger hovered over the tempting blue button, but with a sigh closed down the screen instead. He needed to speak with Dr. Ford.

* * *

Len was trying really hard, and Izzy appreciated it. But as they sat in the restaurant in the hotel, he was just making it worse by choosing unnatural conversation topics. It began with her work, and when she reminded him that she wasn't allowed to talk about any case details, Len had suddenly developed a fascination for the history of Saddlebred horses and the life story of her own mare at home. Izzy had to stop him when he began to ask questions about the merits of different bits.

"Len, I know what you're doing. And I appreciate it, but for the love of god, stop pretending to be interested in horses," Izzy groaned, holding her head in her hand.

A middle-aged woman looked over at her in annoyance from another table, like she was causing some great disruption. She had done it a few times over the past twenty minutes. _The only disruption in the room was her, with her gaudy puffed-out dress and boobs shoved up to her throat._ She had such a huge bustle on, Izzy was amazed she fit on the small wooden chair.

Len laughed uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Iz. I just feel like part of what happened today was my fault. I should have warned you about how real the hosts seem. How realistic their deaths could be. I remember the first time I saw one up close...it can be extremely gross and messy."

Stabbing her lasagna with a little too much gusto, Izzy narrowed her eyes, trying not to get mad at him. He came to the park all the time, she was uninitiated, but it was amazing to her how disconnected all the guests were from what was happening right in front of them. The hosts were biologically-based, they were meant to be as lifelike as possible in all of their actions: fighting, screwing, and dying alike, yet nobody seemed to even notice the things that made them that way. Not one person seemed concerned for these non-human people. "Len, it was not _gross_. It was not _'messy'._ "

"Well, you know what I mean, the dress you liked so much is completely ruined, and we wasted a whole day that could have been spent doing something fun," he corrected with a smile.

"Len," Izzy started slowly. "I had a person bleed out in my arms today. I felt his heart stop beating under my hand, and every time I close my eyes I can see the fear and shock on his face. I am sitting here knowing that the minute we walked inside he was dragged off for a photo-op with Craig like some fucking canned lion hunt. So if you think that my biggest issue right now is that the goddamned outfit is ruined..."

The woman from the other table glared over at her again. Izzy's head whipped toward her. "Bitch, _what?_ Do you have something to say to me? Or is your corset so tight that it's crushing your lungs, rendering you incapable of speech?"

The woman paled and averted her eyes, but the small dining room had fallen silent.

"Fuck this." Izzy walked out to the front saloon and parked herself at the bar.

* * *

"I was going to say you look like you need a drink, but I see you have two."

Izzy turned to where the sultry female voice was coming from, seeing a beautiful young woman with huge blue eyes and perfectly curled brown hair. "Well, I'm just now finally not hungover, so I thought I should get drunk right away."

The woman laughed musically, and came to lean against the polished wood bar. "I just saw you storm in here all flustered, and I wanted to make sure you didn't need some company."

Knowing what the host meant by "company", the blonde shook her head with a tight-lipped smile. "No, thank you..."

"Clementine, Clementine Pennyfeather," the woman supplied, holding out her tan gloved hand for Izzy to shake. "You're new, there's not much of a rind on you!"

"Yeah, I'm here on vacation." Izzy downed one of the whiskeys that sat in front of her. "Some fucking vacation."

"Oh my god!" Clementine exclaimed with youthful enthusiasm. It was like something had just occurred to her. "Did you just get into town? What a day...good thing that brave gentleman was here to put down those two before they murdered the whole town." She shook her head quickly and made a humming sound.

Izzy looked up at the second floor banister, realizing that there was still a gaping hole where the safe had been thrown over onto the ground floor. She was surprised to see that the hosts still remembered what had happened, but it wasn't too late yet. Maybe QA cleaned up outside the hotels first, and then once the guests were no longer in need of the hosts' services inside, they and the building were serviced as well. Overall it was a trippy thought, and Izzy was glad she wasn't one of the people in charge of making sure the narratives were running smoothly. QA deserved a lot of credit.

"It was a cheap shot," she commented, staring down at the second crystal glass. "He was distracted."

"Oh," the host replied. To Izzy's surprise, she studied her for a second and her countenance softened in understanding. "Ohhh..."

Meeting Clementine's large, sad eyes, the blonde told her everything.

* * *

 **A/N: Drop me a review please, they really make me feel fuzzy inside :)**


	6. Chapter 6

_"So you think I shouldn't leave."_

 _For what seemed like the hundredth time, Izzy's mom sighed. "No I don't think you should leave. I think you should stick it out and go to the board member's gala."_

 _"So I'll come back for the gala! You don't even like this place, why do you want me to stay?" Izzy retorted with exasperation. She rolled over on the king-sized bed in her Mesa hotel room and studied the ceiling. Everything in the room was an unthrilling shade of grey._

 _"Izzy, you know why I want you to stay. Because my shares will be your shares soon."_

 _"Mom, don't say stuff like that!"_

 _"Izzy, I don't mean to say that to get you worked up. It's just a fact, and one that won't be helped when the time comes if you are unprepared for this."_

 _"Why don't you sell the shares now? Then you can make sure they go to someone you approve of."_

 _"Because nobody will think like I do. Nobody on the board has had any firsthand experience with the hosts the way I did, and quite frankly I think that the designers want to keep it that way. Nobody will know the ins and outs from the technology side the way I did. But you will."_

 _"What are you afraid of?"_

 _"I'm afraid that not enough people have a reaction the way you did, Iz. There are a million Craigs in the park, and there are very few Izzys. And there is only one Izzy who has the will, intelligence, and position to make sure that nothing unethical is happening in the park," her mom confessed. She could hear the resolve in her voice._

 _"Unethical meaning what?" Izzy asked, unable to hide her incredulity. There was definitely something going on under the surface that her mom wasn't letting her know for some reason._

 _"Nothing, really. I suppose it's just me being a bit silly, having worked too closely with the hosts for too long. But even back years ago, the hosts...once in a while...would go off-script."_

 _"Like they would improvise?"_

 _"Yes...only the improvisational abilities of the hosts are, at heart, scripted. The host can only improvise as well as his personality allows him. A host with a high bulk apperception—his ability to understand and process the world around him—will be quicker and more successful with improvs. Other personality traits like self-preservation and charm are also tied in. These...off-scripted moments happened rarely, only twice when I was in the lab. They were always quickly fixed with a patch or reset."_

 _"But you think they were completely original," Izzy deadpanned. A feeling of dread settled into her stomach. "You think that they were beginning to create their own thoughts and actions...becoming conscious."_

 _"I wouldn't go that far, but I also know those moments were very hush hush. If they were happening now, I guarantee the board wouldn't even know what questions to ask, and the board director wouldn't be quick to fill them in. But now you do. And you can gather information yourself. If something is there, you can help protect it."_

 _"Okay. I'm going to write down some initial questions for Lee. I'll make sure to get the contact info for some of the other techs in case I need clarification." Her resolve was strengthened. This meant a lot more to her mom than she had originally let on—even if she didn't have the whole story._

 _"Love you, sweetie."_

 _"Love you, mom."_

* * *

And that was how Izzy ended up here. To Len's credit, he seemed like he wasn't going to rush through anything. As long as she wanted to stay on a floor or look at a particular step in the host-making process, he waited patiently. No matter how many questions she had for poor Lee and the nearby techs.

"So everything starts up here in Narrative, with yours truly. I and my team make the story, the characters, the details...and then we send our preliminary sketches to the design team," Lee explained as they walked through the white sparkling lab where numerous men and women were diligently drawing and planning. Izzy hoped they weren't disturbed by their tour, but with a boss as loud and talkative as Mr. Sizemore, she guessed this was a welcomed reprieve.

Lee trotted into his glass-walled office and grabbed some files from a locked drawer. "Here, these are some of the blueprints of my new narrative. It's going to be revealed at the gala."

Izzy studied the papers he handed her, most of them were various levels of character sketches, and she could imagine her mom loving to do this kind of work. "How exciting for you, Mr. Sizemore. I can't wait to see the unveiling!"

He took them back from her carefully and replaced them. "Well you know, I'm just trying to build the fan base before it launches," Lee joked. He clapped his hands emphatically. "Now then, shall we continue? After we okay the designs, we make general 3D models of the hosts. We use them to finalize anatomical measurements and then the artists begin sculpting the face separately. It's transferred to one of my head designers—or myself if it's an important character—and then it's transferred to the body shop for a shell to be created. All the last-minute tweaks, freckles, scars...they come after that."

She absorbed all of the fascinating information like a sponge. "What is a shell?"

"They don't have a personality or identity uploaded yet. They are only able to follow programmed voice commands. They still can be edited heavily at that point, physically and mentally," Lee explained as he led them back to the hallway. "But here, we can go see them firsthand."

The elevator took them to the next floor.

* * *

"Yes, so from what I'm told by Design, the skin is a synthetic bio-based material that was originally used for burn victims. Like a human, there are millions of nerve endings in the skin that connect to the host's main physical processor. They could feel a pin prick and react accordingly."

The fact that the hosts were biologically-based piqued Izzy's interest, because when her mom had worked there, they were still very much mechanical. This would be one of the things she made sure to explain to her mom. The hosts could heal their own wounds too, within reason.

Izzy knew that all of the information Lee was supplying her with was meant to help her make the distinction between humans and hosts, and honestly seeing the huge white hoops dip a slowly forming body into a vat of liquid plastic had driven the point home. Regrettably, it also made her more uneasy about the androids.

In the stark clinical environment of the body shop and "livestock management" it was easy for Izzy to make the distinction between humans and hosts. But in the park, in their natural environment where there was no lab tech with a space age suit and clipboard following them, it was harder.

Walking by the evidence of the park's ravagings had the same effect.

The bodies piled together in the wash room being hosed down crudely made her think of Armistice, littered with bullet holes and gasping for breath. Hearing Lee explain how they were patched and repaired, she hoped the sheriff was fixed and back to normal. But the most difficult thing was seeing a shell have the synthetic blood pumped into it. Slowly but surely the android went from pure white to a human pink, and with it emerged the sound of a nascent heartbeat, triggered by the fluid.

Hector's heartbeat.

Izzy would endeavor to always imagine a tech with a clipboard behind every host, telling them what to do. Because that was the indirect truth, none of their actions were their own.

But what her mom had said earlier still threw off her new dogma. No matter how she tried to cover it, Izzy knew what she had been alluding to; she had seen things in the design lab that made her think that the hosts were capable of more than the illusion of intelligence and the ability to perform party tricks. Something more than a glitch. If her mom was right, then Izzy needed to stay on the board, gather information, and maybe even take legal action.

Lee's voice snapped her head away from the tub and host. "Of course, the hosts can be updated at any time. Your Hector was actually just updated! I wrote him a whole new speech yesterday...trust me, I was much more disappointed than you when he didn't make it out of Sweetwater!" Lee laughed at his own joke and Len joined in. He had been silent and respectful, but couldn't keep himself from trying to keep any tension from building at the mention of the host that had been a source of such massive anxiety.

Izzy smiled amiably as a queasy feeling returned to her. _Her Hector_. His painful death only had value, only was worth a mention because of how it had affected her and Lee.

But, she supposed, he was someone else's Hector now. Running through his scripted loop, he was charming and dangerous and thrilling to another guest.

"Ah damn. Too bad the gala comes before the next heist! I'd like to see how it goes without interruption!" Len agreed.

"Hah. I think that one saloon heist was enough for me!" she joked, shooting Len a quick warning. He flashed a curt smile.

"Yeah, I forgot how taxing the first trip to the park can be for some people. We are just chillin' out tonight. Going to check out the wild horses by the lake and then going to the restaurant in the badlands," Len told the other man, putting an arm around Izzy.

Her immediate reaction was to frown, but knew that Len just liked to show off in front of other people. Pretty soon she was going to have to have a discussion with him about their relationship.

* * *

"Well, well, well, _Señor_ Hector Escaton. And here I thought they'd never catch your wily ass."

The hot midday sun momentarily blinded Hector as he was pulled unceremoniously from the hotbox patrol carriage by two overeager deputies. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the pueblo-style jail that was Los Diablos.

 _Fucking hellhole._

With an unnecessary shove, the two men led him into the jail and down the short hallway. Hector noticed how quick they both were to touch their guns or exchange glances at any slight movement of his head or eyes—they could shove him all they wanted. They were terrified of him.

"Well Escaton, the judge ain't comin' up this way for a week. You got a lotta reckonin' to do, try to fit it all in before you're strung up - if brutes like you find peace. Good riddance."

The lock clicked shut on the iron door behind him and Hector turned slowly back toward the deputy. Stupid gringo was really brave now that he had no weapons and a gate between them! Hector smiled devilishly and reveled in the discomfort on the other man's face. Instead of attempting a response, the deputy scooted away, and Hector watched him go before flopping down on the rickety bed.

 _Hanging? Hardly. There was no room in his grand scheme for hanging._ He propped one leg over the other and made himself comfortable. _He'd give it about...four days before Armistice would show up and break him out. She was a lot of things, murderous madwoman for certain, but she was the most loyal son-of-a-bitch Hector knew, and was the only person he would call a friend._

He could remember the day he met her; she was scrawny, sickly, just a little girl, but soon he realized that she had the nerve for violence and an itch for revenge. She had reminded him of himself when he first turned outlaw, a few days after his village was burned by a band of Confederados, and he had lost the love of his life, Isabella. He had been young, reckless, and looking for death.

He spit on the ground in disdain at the rush of memories. _Fucking hijos de puta._

 _Gunshots and screams rang out in the quiet night, the sound of glass shattering and flames licking at kindling were burned into Hector's mind. They spared no one, not even the children, as they pillaged and ransacked the unarmed inhabitants._

 _All he knew was that he needed to find Isabella amid the chaos. She stood frozen in front of her family's hacienda, watching it burn._

 _"Bella, no!" Hector yelled, seeing her thoughts clear through her large brown eyes._

 _"¡Tengo que volver! ¡Mi hermanito está alli!"_

 _She couldn't go back into the flaming house, that was a death sentence. He would go in and try to find her little brother for her. "¡No, dejame hacerlo!"_

 _A crash drew his attention as an awning collapsed next door, and in that moment she bolted. It didn't matter that he ran after her, she was gone. Consumed in the smoke and flames._

 _All he had left from that night was a scar, from where a beam struck him on the head. Sometimes he dreamt that he had gone in alongside her, but she would always vanish. Other times he searched the ashes of the house, only to find no trace of her._

 _The lawmen had laughed at the suffering and pain of his village. They celebrated, none too secretly, the downfall of a quaint little town of brown men who had forgotten their place. It had been the band of passingby outlaws who helped rebuild and protect the town. It was a wanted man who took him in and gave his life a purpose._

He had been reborn.

* * *

"Is that Miss Isabella Moore?"

An old jovial voice broke through their idle conversation.

"Dr. Ford!" Len greeted. "It certainly is, we finally wore her down!"

Dr. Ford shook her hand with unexpected warmth. "How is your mother doing?"

Izzy was taken aback. She was unaware that her mom had been close with the creative director, or that they still kept in contact. "She's...as well as can be expected."

"Ah." He nodded sharply with downcast eyes. "Do send her my regards. She was a brilliant designer in her day, even if she gives the board conniptions."

The mixed reactions of the three other people spoke volumes about their opinion of Susan Moore's role in Delos.

"I was just showing Izzy around, she had a run-in with Hector yesterday that left her a bit out of sorts," Lee explained. The blonde could tell by the designer's nervous tension that, despite his calm fatherly image, Dr. Ford was a force to be reckoned with.

"Ah, the resident bad boy. I hope he didn't give you too much of a fright," Dr. Ford commented with amusement. His tone was flippant, but when he met Izzy's eyes his expression was enigmatic.

"I was horrified..." She couldn't help the response, they were all too flippant. "...that people could watch someone wreathe in pain and laugh and want to photograph it."

Dr. Ford's mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed. Izzy was sure it was an acknowledgement only meant for her to see. "Yes...I gave up on the guests long ago, I once didn't believe they would want to stoop to this level of violence. I'm sorry you had to see it this way, but I trust that the tour has at least helped you understand the workings of the hosts."

Based on the nervous energy radiating off of Lee and Len, it was only a matter of time before they spoke out again. Izzy was not, however, expecting the grave seriousness that came from them.

"We explained how the hosts worked and the technology behind their lifelike programming," Lee began. He and Len turned their stony gazes to Izzy. "Izzy still doesn't like it, but she understands."

Looking back and forth between the suddenly businesslike young men, she suddenly realized how deeply entrenched her mom was in the Delos Corporation.


	7. Chapter 7

Hector sighed as his stomach growled for the millionth time. The deputy had slid food under the bars, but he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of stooping to eat the dirty slop. He _did,_ however, drink the water when he was sure no one was looking.

He wasn't stupid, just stubborn. He knew he needed water—he was only human after all. _Ugh but this was only day two_. He was going to die of dust and boredom by the time Armistice finally got there.

It was just then that Hector heard a commotion outside the jail. The jingling of harness brass and rhythmic clopping of horse hooves signaled the arrival of another prisoner. He cocked his jaw, happy for the distraction, but was not looking forward to sharing a cell.

There was a slight commotion outside as the lawmen laughed like hyenas. Hector rolled his eyes, but wasn't inspired enough to peer out the small window. He was sure he would know the butt of the joke soon enough.

The suspense didn't last for long. Thanks to their inability to talk quietly, Hector overheard the men joking about one of the prisoners being a very wanted man, and that he preferred a firing-squad execution.

He was surprised to see that a second prisoner, an older man dressed in black, was also brought in. Without much preamble, the deputy thrust the prisoner into the cell with him. The man immediately smoothed himself over and regained a self-assured composure as the door clicked shut; he was a little overdressed, with a tie, vest, and overcoat.

 _Oh good, one of those types. He probably was caught cheating at cards or some other reckless, stupid city slicker pastime. Idiota._

"Enjoy the cigars," the man in black joked.

"Go fuck yourself," the deputy spat tactlessly. _Wow, what a comeback, zinging, really._ No doubt he lacked the cognition to make a witty retort even if he had wanted too.

Of course the big bug chuckled to himself like he had it all figured out. Hector studied him for a moment longer before the temptation became overwhelming:

"And just who are you supposed to be?"

Without breaking character, the older man turned to him with a self-righteous surety that grated Hector's nerves. "Your salvation."

 _His salvation? Oh, por supuesto. He was obviously so good at handling his own salvation._ Hector adjusted his hat and stared at the man unamused. "I don't think we have ever met."

The man had moved to the window and was fixated on something outside, only turning back to respond. "You know, you always seemed like a...a market tested kinda thing." He walked to the middle of the cell and continued his monologue as if he was saying something of great importance. "Big gun, tasteful scar, locked in your little cycle like a prized poodle after his own tail."

Hector bit down on his tongue, forcing his tone to remain level despite his rampant annoyance at the pompous asshole in front of him. "And you sound like someone who has grown tired of wearing his guts on the inside."

"There's no need to get testy," the man began condescendingly. "I'm just curious about your...world view. Some kind of native mumbo-jumbo?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the oversimplification of his nihilistic philosophy, he gave the easiest explanation he possibly could. "It's simple: I believe that only the truly brave can look at the world and understand that all of it—gods, men, everything else—will end badly. No one will be 'saved'."

The old prune nodded as if he had any true understanding, and chewed on his toothpick. "Maybe we've got more in common than I thought."

Hector weaved his hands together and squeezed them tightly to distract himself. WIthout thinking, he asked: "What about you? What turns of fate have brought you here?"

"It's a long story," the man commented as he walked back over to the window.

 _Of course it was._

"...And we don't have the time."

"Got more time than your friend, sadly," Hector replied, unable to help himself. "It will be a few more days before my friends show up."

"Three days normally."

Hector's blood ran cold at the assessment. _How did he know?_

 _"_ I'm afraid I don't have time for that, so we're leaving now," the man explained in the omnipotent way it seemed like he most liked to use.

All he could do was watch in awe as the man blew the door open with a lit match.

 _¿Qué carajo?_ Hector swore to himself at the sudden change in fortune.

The man looked back with an irritatingly pleased smirk as he headed out of the cell. "Step lively, Hector."

He didn't even ask how the older man knew his name, he just followed. Who was he to pass up a jailbreak?

* * *

Hector remained mostly silent on the way back to Armistice's camp. He was still shocked by the orchestration of the morning's events—the big bug deserved credit for that feat; he walked the walk.

"One match," Armistice greeted in an abnormally warm voice. She had been sitting under a large tree in the clearing, frowning in concentration. Hector smiled cheekily at her. _She had been worried about him._

The cool humid air of the small woods was a welcomed reprieve from the relentless sun and desert. Hector couldn't wait to go for a swim. But before he could amuse himself, he had to acknowledge the situation at hand.

"You are a capable man," he admitted as they came to a stop in the wooded clearing. "We could do with your help where we are going."

"I'm afraid not," the man replied easily, dismounting and tying his horse to a tree.

"We owe you a debt," he insisted.

"Ahhh...your friend here simply owes me a word or two," the man looked over at an agreeable Armistice. "And a word of advice? That thing you're looking for? You're never gonna find it in that safe."

Hector was slightly taken aback, watching Armistice and the man walk off to find privacy as he unsaddled his horse.

"Hijo de puta loco..."

He looked over to see the other man, Lawrence, still on his horse scowling after the man in black. "Parece loco, pero muy capaz."

Lawrence transferred his unamused stare to Hector at the response. "He killed my wife, tortured my daughter...all in search of some 'maze'. He thinks it's the meaning of life or some bizarre gringo bullshit, keeps saying something about how there's more to this world and he's going to find it. Like life is some board game."

"Ah," Hector acknowledged the good-natured response. Even though he had begun bitterly, Lawrence's warm character couldn't help but show through. "Eso tiene sentido. He said some odd things when I first met him, seemed a bit off. Do you know anything about the maze?"

Lawrence shook his head sadly as he dismounted. "Not a thing. My daughter sent him to find the blood arroyo where the snake lays her eggs—which brought us to your friend."

"Armistice is part of the maze?" Hector asked with interest. _Armistice was a low-profile woman who never sought out notoriety. How could she be a part of someone's game? And why was she humoring the man?_

"Seems to be that way. No doubt whatever she tells the man in black will give him some indication of where he should head next on his quest," Lawrence explained. "And he'll drag me along like the sadistic motherfucker that he is."

Setting the saddle and pad down on the ground, Hector began to rub the black mare with a rag. "Lo siento." He knew it sounded lame, but he didn't have the faintest idea of how to appropriately express sympathy for something as great as losing your family and being kidnapped by a mad man. But he had felt the pain.

The older man seemed to understand his sincerity, and nodded his appreciation as he tended his own mount. They put away the horses in a companionable silence, but Hector couldn't shake an uneasy feeling brewing in his stomach.

* * *

"The girl is getting worse."

Lee Sizemore cringed, turning back to the desk. "I know."

The man adjusted his glasses as his eyes narrowed. "If you know, then why is it happening?"

"I have tried everything! I spent days studying American Saddle Horses to design her that horse, Len sent Wardrobe all of her favorite colors and styles so they could create perfect outfits for her, and she's in the most historically accurate room in the hotel," Lee explained exasperatedly. "I cleared my schedule just to give her a tour of the lab!"

"But she's still causing an issue?"

"Well, it seems like her allergic reaction caused her to bond quite closely to a host, who, in turn, died in a rather grisly fashion right in front of her. She's a bit off now, more so than she had been," Lee replied.

"A host? How?"

"From what I heard, it was a host who, through some fancy programming fuckery, overrode his GSP and administered her epi-pen. She wouldn't let QA take him back to the Mesa," Lee said, walking back over to the large glass wall that overlooked the mountains.

"A host. Not Len?" The man groaned in agitation.

"Truth be told, it seems like the whole scenario has put her off of Len a bit. She's digging her heels in," Lee admitted, rubbing his stubbled chin.

"This was just how it started with Susan. Keep an eye on her. I'll think of something to get her calmed down."

* * *

For a good twenty minutes, Hector seriously considered living in this lake permanently. He had never been happier to go swimming before in his life; and here, with the birds chirping, the quiet flapping of his newly cleaned clothes drying in the wind, and the lapping of the waves, he felt more at peace than he had in months.

But as he dove under the water again, he couldn't shake a bizarre feeling, and had to resurface. Lawrence's words echoed in his head:

 _He killed my wife, tortured my daughter...all in search of some 'maze'. He thinks it's the meaning of life or some bizarre gringo bullshit, keeps saying something about how there's more to this world and he's going to find it. Like life is some board game._

The man in black was still back at camp. Part of Hector wanted to not let him out of his sight, another part, a gut reaction, was to avoid the man like the plague and he didn't know why. He sighed wearily, knowing that his tranquility had been permanently disrupted by his train of thoughts, and began to wade back to shore.

"Are you going to come eat something?"

Hector turned to the voice, seeing Armistice standing a ways off, her hand on her hip. "It any good?"

"Tenderloin just went to town and picked up some things, it's not half-bad," she explained. To make sure he didn't think she cared too much, Armistice sauntered back to camp without waiting for a reply.

It was at that point that he realized how hungry he was; he would definitely take Tenderloin up on his cooking. Shivering from the wind on his wet body, Hector walked over to the trees and retrieved his pants, half-heartedly ringing the water from his hair. The wind had shifted, and he was glad for the semi-permanence of their camp. The tents were sturdy and warm even in the night, but he expected no less from Armistice while she was in charge.

It only took him a few moments to be fully dressed in his mostly-dry clothes, and, having repeated the process hundreds of times, finished buttoning his collar while grabbing for his belt and holster automatically.

 _Thud._

The muffled but solid sound of something falling into the sandy grass caused Hector to pause. In a flash of panic, he touched all the compartments of his holster and belt. It hadn't felt any lighter when he picked it up, but he realized one of the small pockets was open.

 _He never used those compartments, why would it have been open?_ Glancing down at the ground, he knelt down to retrieve what had fallen. _What was it?_ A key. He scoffed, standing back up. _Where had that come from? It certainly wasn't his._

Holding it in his palm, Hector ran his thumb over the cool metal. It was a silver key attached to a chain, obviously someone's homemade necklace. _Or was it, perhaps, the key to their house and now they were locked out?_ He smiled in amusement at the thought.

 _"It's from my house, but like I said, it's good luck. So I want you to have it for your heist."_

Hector had been injured many times in his eventful life, but the feeling that suddenly came upon him was like nothing he had ever felt. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of him and he had been dazed. An out-of-body sensation of airy detachment and almost painful grounding swirled in his mind as he recalled visions with crystal clarity.

 _"This is my lucky necklace, so take it with you."_

 _"I never thanked you for helping me. If you wouldn't have been so quick thinking, I might not be here right now."_

 _"Len Price you put that gun down right now or so help me I will kick your ass."_

A woman was saying all these things—he could see her vividly in his mind's eye. She sat next to him, her blonde hair a disheveled mess in the firelight, but obviously the updo of a lady. She was beautiful...and fierce. He could hear her voice: laughing, smiling, commanding.

Hector gripped the key painfully as his throat constricted and panic began to set in. There was no way he had dreamt her, the memory was so clear, down to the word. _What was her name?_ He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to force the information out of the deep recesses of his brain. _She had to have told it to him!_

 _"Izzy, I think I'm going to turn in for the night. We gotta get going early tomorrow morning if we want to get into town before—"_

 _"Before what?"_

The strangest feeling was spreading through him. It was almost like the memories and emotions were so tumultuous that he was freezing up. His brain just wanted to shut down instead of dealing with the reality. _No,_ Hector shook his head viciously, _he needed to focus on this._ Sucking in as much air as he could, he forced himself to calm down.

 _"That's right you're going to rob a saloon tomorrow! Are you nervous?"_

What saloon? He had never robbed a saloon in a town before. He had just thought of the plan to rob the Mariposa days ago! This woman was talking to him about doing it _the next day._ He wasn't planning on moving back to the Sweetwater Hills for another week!

None of this made sense. He wanted to throw up and he wanted to shoot something, but couldn't will himself to actually move. It was like he was suspended on the beach, staring at this necklace that had triggered a flood of memories that had no place in his timeline.

For a fanciful moment, as his brain grasped at straws, Hector thought maybe it was a premonition. The day before their heist he was going to meet this girl and these scenes were going to play out.

 _That didn't make sense either, because how would he already have a necklace she was going to give him in the future?_

 _"Escaton! Food! Comida! ANDALE!"_ Armistice barked at him, holding a plate with an annoyed expression on her tired face.

It was like he had been drowning and she had just thrown him a rope. Immediately his mind attempted to discard the mind-bending chaos of his current situation and homed in on the food. But even as he walked (almost ran) back to the fire, he clutched the key in his now-bleeding hand.

The man in black's words suddenly reemerged in the fog of his mind, taking on a profundity they hadn't had before:

 _"And a word of advice? That thing you're looking for? You're never gonna find it in that safe."_


	8. Chapter 8

"What is wrong with you?"

Hector flinched, belatedly realizing he had been staring into the fire. His eyes were uncomfortably dry now. He blinked rapidly until Armistice came into focus in the waning sunlight, knowing he didn't have to respond; she was going to tell him what was wrong with him.

"Ever since you got back you have been off. And you have this glazed over look in your eyes like a dazed steer. What happened at Los Diablos?"

He sighed and ran his hands over his face. _He felt like a dazed steer._ "Nothing happened that the man did not explain. He came, he—he somehow used his match to blow up the lock, and we escaped fast enough to save his friend from a firing squad."

"He told me—one match was all he needed to rescue you," she replied. He noted the disbelief in her voice.

"I would hardly call it rescuing, more like procuring collateral," Hector commented.

Armistice breathed a laugh in agreement and they went back to staring at the fire. Neither of them were the kind for small talk. "He is a determined man."

There was a moment of silence before Hector spoke again. The words stuck in his throat and he had to force them out as the anxiety from earlier came rushing back to him, steeling himself against the floodgate of confusion. "What did he speak to you about?"

"He wanted the story behind my tattoo. When I asked him what his interest was, he started telling me about a man named Arnold who was the original settler in these parts. He went on, raving like a mad man, about how Arnold shaped the territory into the lawless hellhole it is now. 'He created a world that you could do anything you want...except die'," Armistice mocked the older man's gruff voice. "A lunatic. If there is a place you couldn't die, it certainly isn't here."

 _Laugh, she was making a joke._ He willed himself to chuckle lamely in response, but felt otherwise detached from the scene in front of him. Too many thoughts were swirling around in his head. "What else did he say?"

She thought for a moment. "He went fully religious, talking about how no matter how real this world seems, it's all just a game. He said Arnold died here in the territory he helped create...So much for not dying."

The meandering way she spoke was grating on Hector in a way it never had before. _He wanted all the information dammit!_ "What else?"

Armistice eyed him with plain annoyance and he made a face back at her. "He said that he thought that Arnold had a secret that died with him...one with _real_ stakes and violence. He thought my tattoo was the next piece of a puzzle that will lead him to this game. That is all he told me."

After a moment, he opened his hand and showed her the necklace. "Do you remember how I got this?"

"No I don't, what is it?" she asked, looking at the pendant with passive interest.

"I do not know, I was hoping you would remember," Hector admitted, running a finger over the now-warm metal.

"It doesn't look like anything to me."

* * *

 _"Do I do it like this?"_

Len heard Izzy's labored voice call out to Eye Patch. He had no idea how they ended up going on the treasure hunt so late in the day, but damned if the crazy-looking old host wasn't there at the saloon to welcome them. Len thought maybe Dr. Ford had manipulated the whole thing after their run-in. Quite honestly, he didn't know if the exchange between the park's head and Izzy had gone well or not. Their words had been rather odd, and neither really gave away what they were thinking.

Izzy's laughter broke through his thoughts. Despite wanting to wear the whole 1800s get up, he knew that the blonde was much comfier in her corduroys and boots. Even now in the waning sunlight, she was happily crouched over a creek, shifting through mounds of dirt. Her long hair had crept out of her braid and was sticking in chucks to her face. Eye Patch was helping, keeping a dutiful eye on his young ward.

They had yet to hit pay dirt, but Len had done this adventure before; they would soon enough. He was just happy to see Izzy enjoying the park for what it was intended to be. Maybe because of her pedigree, the park coordinators had let her slip a little; she should have been flagged against violence in her background check and behavior exam. Either way, she was having a good time now, all dirty and in the thick of it.

Len felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, because he knew it was his job to show Izzy all the good and fun Westworld had to offer, so that when she became the board member for her mom, it wasn't his fault that they had another... _soft touch_. Numerous governments were already too curious about their technology and some guests had reviews that were _too_ flattering about the hosts. The last thing they needed was someone in Delos with misplaced compassion and the power to give them what they wanted.

People like that should stick to picketing circuses and zoos, they were completely wrong about the hosts. The hosts never were, and never would be sentient beings. They weren't slaves or captives being abused, no matter what Susan Moore thought. And the last thing Len wanted was for Izzy to get on to the wrong side of Delos and his family. His father was under so much pressure these days, especially with the head of the board coming to the park for the meeting. It would be for the best if they all could move forward on good terms.

"Len! Len look I think I found something!" Izzy's excitement broke his thoughts.

Eye Patch slapped his leg with delight. "I reckon the lady's struck gold! Well done, missy!"

Len smiled and trotted over. "Let me see it! Wow. You're a natural gold digger, Iz."

She pouted at him, tucking her unruly hair behind her ears. "Hardly necessary, but always good to have back-up skills."

"I knew the park would come in handy," he shot back with a chuckle as Eye Patch washed and sifted through her find.

"Yeah, this was fun! I wonder how much more we'll find! I'd like to purchase some more stuff," she explained matter-of-factly.

"You said you was real into horseflesh, right Miss Izzy?" Eye Patch commented. She nodded, looking to her own horse grazing nearby. "There's a track not too far from here, maybe a half a day's ride. The best horse racing you'll find in these parts! Maybe you and your mare will fancy a go, she's a pretty creature."

"OMG Len, let's do it. I'm dressed for serious riding now. We can head back to the hotel for dinner, wash up, and the horses will be rested up by the morning. We can head out early!" Izzy said.

 _How could he deny excitement like that?_ "Sounds good to me."

* * *

"Sir, we have a problem."

Ashley Stubbs, the head of security, turned from the projected world map toward the woman walking up to him. "I love problems, we've been having a lot of them lately."

The woman pursed her lips in silent acknowledgement of her superior's slight. "We have a rogue host out by Las Mudas. One of the shareholders was following the Join a Gang storyline, broke Hector Escaton out of prison, and followed him back to Armistice's camp."

"And?" Stubbs prodded, pulling up the suspected host's data on his tablet.

"Everything seemed to be progressing normally until Hector found a necklace that set him off. It wasn't an object in his storyline, but it was scanned in and verified as a guest's from his last loop. It could have been a tech oversight down in Livestock. I did some reading of his coding backlog and it looks like he almost had the same glitch that the sheriff did," she continued, the confusion was obvious in her voice. "Maybe another one suffering from the new software update?"

"Could be, but you said he almost glitched, but didn't?" Stubbs wasn't a coder, but he could see that there were no error codes in Hector's log, and quite frankly they had enough on their plates in QA right now. If there wasn't really a problem, Stubbs wasn't trying to create extra work for his team.

She sighed. "It looks like his error correction smoothed it over and kept him from freezing. But an hour or so after, he went off-loop. He looks like he's heading for the desert."

"Wandering?" Stubbs asked. He had a sick curiosity when it came to the new misbehaving hosts—one that kept him clinging to his gun even in bed. Thinking about the Woodcutter fiasco still gave him chills.

"No, he bathed, ate, gathered water, and rode out on his horse."

Now that was intriguing to Stubbs. "So he has a mind to go somewhere, any idea where?"

"I believe he is following the guest. But there's a hold on his profile; it says that any and all edits to Hector must go through Lowe, I guess he's already been flagged for behavior and they want to keep an eye on him." she explained.

He frowned in confusion. "How long has he been off course?"

"About six hours now, not including the two hours he headed out of camp but was still within acceptable parameters."

"If he isn't accepted by the guest, then we'll go get him. Since he's already marked, leave him with another note for behavior," Stubbs shook his head and went back to gazing over the map. "Lucky son-of-a-bitch."

* * *

Hector had no concerns with riding through the night, other than that Santo was mad about being woken up and saddled so late. He was the big bad around these parts, and aside from Armistice, nobody in the next four counties could shoot like he did.

That didn't keep a creepy feeling from taking over him when he saw the Man in Black again. Even his campfire, nestled amongst the trees and rocks, looked sinister, and Hector didn't even know how that was possible. The man was completely unsettling, and Hector didn't like being unsettled. He was usually the one who could read people and manipulate them—now here he was like an idiot.

"Well I'll be god damned, if it isn't Hector Escaton!" the Man in Black joked with false cheer the minute Hector walked into the small clearing. "What brings you all this way to our, uh, humble abode?"

He tipped his hat uneasily, but gave a curt smile to Lawrence, who was wearing the same frown as earlier in the day. It wasn't until a small movement near a tree caught his eye that Hector noticed the crumpled form of a third man. "I thought about what you said, about not finding what I was looking for."

The older man made a face of surprise that caused Hector to want to roll his eyes. He didn't need pity and he certainly didn't want this self-important gringo to think he needed his sage advice.

"Well it's true. You aren't gonna find it in that silly little safe. But you did find me."

"You mean the maze? That's what you think the meaning of life is, right?" Hector replied warily. He noted Lawrence's eye-roll in the background.

The man in black studied him in the firelight for a long moment. "Quite honestly, Hector, I'm not sure. But I'll tell you what I told your friend, I know that there's a deeper level to this game. The original settler in these parts made sure of it, and I'm gonna find it."

"And Armistice? How did she help you?"

There was a pause that made Hector think that the man wasn't going to answer his question. But he kept his eyes narrowed on him, unwavering. It was like a force was compelling him, he had to fill a void in his life that he just realized he had. This man was one step toward that goal.

"The man who killed her family, Wyatt. I think finding him is the key to this maze...look here, Hector. I'll let you come along with me because you're one hell of a shot and I know you can hold your own. But if you can't keep up, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you. We have an accord?" the man asked in the easy voice he seemed to like most.

 _Bet I'm quicker on the draw than you, old man._ For a cheerful moment, Hector allowed himself to imagine beating the grin off of the man's face, seeing his cool façade crumple in the face of certain death.

Because they were all that way. No one was stoic at the end.

He nodded curtly and shook the man in black's outstretched hand.

They had a deal.

* * *

Despite the fun she had had looking for gold, by nightfall, Izzy's muscles ached and she was happy to slide into a bath, giving herself over to Annie's primping. With a wonderful fire burning in her room, the blonde slid into the cushy bed. She couldn't wait for the next day when they went to see the horse races. When she got to race herself!

The thought suddenly crossed her mind that she needed to make a note of things to prepare for the trip. Izzy knew that her horse wasn't built for speed, but it would be fun to try, and she wanted to give them the best shot they had. She would need to rent a horse from the stable to ride so her mare wouldn't be tired out. Putting some leg wraps and a scrim sheet on her wouldn't hurt either, and she would have to discuss with the stablemaster if those things could be procured.

"Miss, are you still awake? You need your rest!" Annie chastised, fluffing the pillows one last time before pointedly turning down the oil lamp. The room fell into relative darkness.

"I know, Annie. You're right. Good night," Izzy sighed but placed her notepad on the nightstand and sunk down into the bedding. It was then that she really realized how tired she was, and immediately drifted into sleep.

* * *

She knew she owed him this, but Izzy wasn't really in the mood to suck face with Len. He bit her lip a lot and it was getting irritating—or was it just because her heart wasn't into it? Maybe if she had the hots for him, she wouldn't be noticing this sort of thing. She mentally rolled her eyes: it had been a while since she made out with someone that she really was into.

"Come on, Iz, before they come!" Len whispered excitedly into her ear, giving it a playful nip.

She frowned in confusion and pulled her head away to gaze out the hotel room window. The main thoroughfare in Sweetwater looked pleasantly normal, and was bustling with activity. He turned her face back to him and leaned in for a kiss.

"Who comes?" Izzy asked, looking back out the window to artfully dodge Len's lips.

His expression was suffering. "You know!"

"No, Len. Obviously, I don't," she replied shortly. _Why did people always say that? Why would she have been asking if she knew?_

Len laughed and wrapped his hands around her waist to pull her close, but Izzy continued to look out at the street. Before her eyes a hush fell over the town, and the sounds of locks clicking was all too familiar.

A gang was riding in under the disguise of blankets and her heart caught in her throat.

"Aww shit, too late. At least we'll be away from the mayhem up here," Len commented, seeing the scene below.

Izzy picked Armistice out of the group easily, and to her horror, the woman turned her head up and caught her eye in the window, giving her a secretive smirk.

"I thought you said this only happened once every three weeks. Why are they back already?" Izzy broke off the eye contact with Armistice, who went back to her task, and toyed with the jewelry on the night stand.

Len didn't reply.

"Len?" she asked again.

"Len is...otherwise preoccupied," a voice commented smoothly. Izzy's eyes widened in recognition and she turned to it. "Was there anything that you required I could assist you with?"

"Hector?"

He grinned wickedly, pushing off of the wall where he was leaning and coming to stand with her. He seemed to have no qualms with invading her personal space, and she gazed up at him.

"How did you get in here?" Izzy continued. But as the question left her lips she realized that she didn't really care about the answer. He seemed to know that too, because he didn't respond right away, taking one of her hands in his own. It immediately brought back a scene from the other day, his lifeless hand falling from hers. But now was different, now it was warm and alive, gloved fingers softly running along her palm.

Taking a deep breath, Izzy forced herself to break eye contact, but didn't remove her hand. She had to try again to take control of the situation before the odd melting sensation she was feeling in her limbs escalated any further. "Why are you here?"

At that, he looked up from their hands, an amused, self-assured expression lighting up his face. "I do not know, Miss Moore. It is _your_ dream, is it not?"

Izzy bolted up in bed, the room still pitch black. With a relieved sigh, she realized it had all been a very weird dream.

 **R & R please!**


	9. Chapter 9

Hector handed his canteen to the half-dead man, Teddy was his name. Well, he was _less_ dead now that the Man in Black sacrificed Lawrence to give him a transfusion—now that was some fucked up shit. This had been a fucked-up day.

But, Hector figured, it wasn't the lawman's fault, and by the way the Man in Black mocked him, he wasn't exactly a willing participant. Lawrence had mentioned that Teddy was a friend of Wyatt, the same Wyatt that had led Armistice to him. _He didn't seem like much of a friend anymore, though. Just based on the bludgeoning and tree-tying._

Hector didn't even know what _he_ was doing there anymore. It wasn't that he was so abhorred by Lawrence's murder he needed to escape, he was just becoming more uneasy. _What was he really doing there? Why? He found a necklace that he thought belonged to someone he knew. What did that even mean? And what if he spent all this time and she was dead? Or not real? Or didn't want to see him? They weren't together anymore, there had to be a reason for that... maybe they weren't even friends._

He grumbled and ran his hand through his hair. His gut instinct was pulling him back to Sweetwater, like he was a human homing pigeon. This path seemed like it was going to lead to a lot of crazy old prophets and even more questions.

Maybe he just didn't have the patience for this sort of journey of self-discovery or whatever bullshit the gringo had planted in his mind, but Hector had been expecting something more along the lines of instant gratification. All he was getting was question-dodging and snide chuckles from the old prune. Maybe he didn't know what he was looking for either, and just wanted Hector to suffer with him. And Teddy still looked like he was about to keel over.

 _Did he mention how fucked up that shit was?_

"Appreciated." Teddy attempted to hand the bottle back with a shaking hand. Hector motioned for him to keep it. He had gotten over the fact that they were traditionally on opposite sides of the law a while ago, and they had sat in companionable silence. The Man in Black was nowhere to be seen.

Hector wasn't sure if he was happy the man was gone, or unnerved. Everything about him was unsettling, and now that the host knew he was capable of atrocities that he himself would save for a very select group of people, that feeling was amplified. Poor Lawrence. But he couldn't lose sight of what his goal was.

Pulling the key from one of the bullet compartments in his belt, he squeezed his fist and let the metal poke his skin. This was what he was here for, to try to make sense of his newfound drive for purpose.

"You won't find what you're looking for in that safe..." Hector mocked under his breath as he kicked the dirt. _Stupid hijo de puta, how the hell did he know?_

"Find what?"

Hector was startled out of his train of thought by the weak voice. Although his initial reaction was to scoff and play his comment off, he considered his lack of options. All he had was a necklace, a fuzzy memory of a woman he didn't know, and a crazy old man who was following a maze that may or may not exist. He literally had nothing to lose.

"I do not know. Your friend told me I would not find what I was looking for on my current path."

Teddy leaned his tired head back on the tree. He was getting his color back a little, even though he still looked like death warmed over. "Well, what is it that you're lookin' for?"

"I do not know. It is shrouded in mystery, just like the son of a bitch who got me here. I am just the idiot who is following him," Hector explained wearily.

They both nodded in silent understanding. Neither knew enough about their campmate-slash-jailer. "What's that you got there, if you don't mind me askin'?"

Hector revealed the key in his palm and brought it to Teddy so he wouldn't have to move to get it. He might as well start showing it to anyone who would look, and with his wanted poster being up all over the area, he wouldn't have many opportunities to mingle. "It's a necklace."

Before the other man could ask whose it was, he continued. "I found this necklace in my belt."

Teddy eyed him with interest, and after running his fingers over the metal, handed the key back. "You found it, but don't know where it's from?"

Hector sighed and replaced the necklace in his belt. "To add insult to this injury, I have only the vaguest recollection of the necklace's owner. She gave it to me for luck, but I do not know what for, or what became of her."

"She might have been murdered by bandits," Teddy retorted quietly, but there wasn't really any malice in his tone. "D'you know her name?"

Closing his eyes, Hector tried to recall the memory of her; it was like there was a physical void in his mind that knew there was supposed to be something in it—she was supposed to be there. _Campfire, tents, a man was there, she was there...and she was there...and she was blonde and tall and...and..._

"Izzy. Her name is Izzy." That had been almost painful.

"Izzy, hmmm...no last name? And you can't recall her at all? That is right peculiar, friend," Teddy commented. "I only know of one Izzy, and she is sweet on a good friend of mine, Len."

 _"Len Price you put that gun down right now or so help me I will kick your ass."_

Hector's blood ran cold. _"Len Price?"_

Teddy stopped and gave a surprised smile. "That's the one, but don't be getting any ideas on robbing him. He's my friend and as good a shot there ever was. We have seen a lot together during our travels."

He didn't hardly hear the other man's quip. His brain was exploding—he had an actual lead. Len Price was a real person, and Izzy was a real person. He wasn't crazy, and she could be found! "I have more important things to concern myself with than a highway robbery of your big bug friend."

"He ain't no big bug. He's a horseman and a damn good bounty hunter. So if you have any business with his girl, you had best tread lightly," Teddy advised. "What _is_ your business with Miss Izzy anyway?"

Hector paused before answering. He didn't truly know what he wanted with her. He just knew that he had a lot of questions suddenly, and she was the only real thing he had anchoring them. If he found her, he could make her explain how she knew he was going to rob the Mariposa, and why she thought he was doing it tomorrow. _"Anglomaniac then_. She gave me this necklace. I am hoping she can fill in some blanks in my memory."

"Not that I wouldn't love to point you in the right direction, but she has never been to Sweetwater as far as I know. Len told me he is trying to get her to come visit, but it hasn't been successful yet," Teddy replied.

"Do you know anything about her?" Hector didn't mind seeming a little desperate, the Man in Black was probably going to kill Teddy soon anyway. And he would like to be gone before he came back to camp.

The other man regarded him for a while, it seemed like he didn't know if he wanted to divulge any information about her. Hector understood that, they were on opposite sides of the law, after all.

"She has a fondness for horses. Len tells me she is quite the horsewoman and loves nothing more than showing off her skill. If she was in the area, she'd be at the racetrack I'd bet."

Hector tried not to jump up from the sudden resurgence of direction. "There is a racetrack less than half a day's ride from here."

Teddy nodded curtly, giving him his blessing to leave the camp, and leave himself at the mercy of the Man in Black.

* * *

Len had been beyond thrilled when Izzy wanted to jump right into the hustle and bustle of the racetrack. He didn't know why he was surprised when she seamlessly blended in with the hosts running the stables and races, she was a seasoned veteran, after all. The rest of the day he had only been able to catch glimpses of her blonde hair in the sunlight. Izzy had been nonstop motion.

But for the love of God, how many hours can one person be amused by leading, brushing, and riding horses? Len was bored to tears, and he had managed to find a poker game to play and won some money betting on races. Now, the sun was finally beginning to set on what was the longest day Len Price had ever had at Westworld. Time apparently stood still at the Fuego Amaroso race track.

"Just got to finish this up, Len."

"You are literally walking a horse in a circle," he responded, watching her, hot, sweaty, and exhausted lead a large chestnut gelding on a circular path.

"He needs to be cooled down!" she explained like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Before continuing, she stopped to watch the horse drink from the trough. "If not he'll tense up. And he tried very hard for me today, didn't you, buddy?"

"He's a-"

Izzy cocked her jaw at him and pulled the horse from the water bucket so they could continue their walk. "You can't keep doing that to me, Len. You can't let me get excited about something, and then the minute I get a little too excited for you, you try to pull it away. This place is meant for you to forget that this isn't a real horse, and that we aren't in some 1880s boarder town in Mexico. So I'm going to walk this guy until he's cooled down. And then I'm going to brush him, and make sure he has clean water and hay in his stall. Because I paid too much to not do that."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Len conceded. She had a point. Just because he got into bounty hunting and war when he was there, didn't mean that her horse thing was too much. "But most people don't come to Westworld to do something they do two or three times a week."

Izzy smiled at him and led the horse off the track and back toward the clay and mud-brick stables. "Well then you'll have to find something here that's better than horses."

"Challenge accepted, Iz!" He laughed. She was in for a treat as soon as the sun went down.

This place was a little too close to Pariah, and being farther from Sweetwater, the narrative was more fast-paced and real. No shootouts at the OK Corral like they had seen the other day. This stuff got gruesome.

Even then, Len couldn't help but be happy for Izzy. She smiled and laughed more in these few hours than he had seen in years. She had always been a serious person by nature, but between her harrowing career—in which he knew she was on government watch lists all around the world and received death threats weekly—and now her mother's illness taking a turn for the worse, Izzy didn't really smile anymore. Not when she wasn't with the horses.

He just wished she could have visited Westworld under different circumstances; hell, he wished _he_ could have visited under different circumstances! Between the board meeting and the looming chaos of Robert Ford's impending retirement, there was nothing vacation-y about this trip. Len rubbed his face as his father's image came to mind. Now he was a man who was in need of some time off. But there was so much uncertainty surrounding Delos these days, and a lot of the burden lay squarely on Dale Price's shoulders.

* * *

"Man, this sucks."

A cowboy turned to his friend at the bar. They sat in the small saloon just outside the racetrack. "I know, Jeremiah..."

The first man, a thin blond, continued, "I lost money on all but one horse, the poker game was rigged, the girls here look like men...why the hell'd you drag me to Fuego Amaroso?"

The second man took a shot of whiskey and sent the small glass back across the bar into the hands of the barkeep. "Because it's on the way to Pariah, and it's off the path. Makes things more exciting."

"Well, James, jack shit has happened since we left town, and my purse is feelin' awfully light."

James pursed his lips as his eyes aimlessly wandered the crowded saloon. Even with the genuine hacienda-style white stucco walls, the room was dark; it lacked windows and the lanterns were dirty and dim. People came and went fluidly, but one man caught his eye. Passing through a corner steeped in shadow, he was tall with a thick beard and black hat to cover his face. He was plainly trying to remain anonymous, but something more made the older man suspicious.

One look at the array of wanted posters on the bulletin board and James knew exactly why the man looked so familiar. "Jeremiah, you up for some bounty huntin'?"

The man responded with a grim smile.

Turning from the bar and drawing his gun, James whistled loudly, drawing the attention of the less-drunk patrons. The man in black peered at him from under the short brim of his hat. "Oy, Escaton! You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Before either man could react, their fugitive had drawn on them and began firing in their direction. The saloon erupted into chaos as women screamed and men took the opportunity to begin firing on their own enemies.

* * *

"You are quite the rider, young lady!"

Izzy smiled at the old host as he walked down the stable isle. Looking back at the dozing horse, she realized that she had officially milked this for all the time she could. She was going to have to call it a night soon and find Len.

Stifling a yawn, Izzy rubbed her eyes. The long day of physical activity and the lingering ache in her leg from the epi-pen had taken a toll, and the exhaustion was hitting her fast.

She gave the gelding a last pat and stepped out of the stall only to hear gunshots ring out. Immediately, the sounds of panic filled the air—a scaled-down repeat of the events in Sweetwater. Izzy secured the stall door before rushing to the open stable doorway. People poured out of the saloon next door, scattering like ants in every direction as the sound of shots continued. _Len wasn't in there, was he?_

She tried to identify any of the hosts and guests running around, but it seemed like the standard at Westworld was if someone started a brawl, everyone joined in. There were separate fist fights and duels suddenly popping up outside. Horses galloped through the chaos riderless, and a mix of cheers and cries were commingled in the cloud of dust.

 _What had even started this whole scene? Was it a guest? Len made it seem like the racetrack was pretty removed from the storylines. This had to have been unplanned._ Izzy was sure Len would be able to explain it to her later.

A second too late, Izzy noticed two men staring at her from the doorway of the saloon.

"Aye!" One shouted, pointing. Without waiting to see what they wanted, she turned to run back into the stable. It was only once she ducked around the side of the doorway that she realized she wasn't alone.

 _"I hope you do not mind sharing this hideout."_

* * *

 **Please R &R!**


	10. Chapter 10

_"Hector?"_

His gaze had been focused on the melee outside, and only after she said his name did he turn toward her. It had taken Izzy's brain a second to realize who she was looking at, but sure enough there he was, tucked into the corner of the barn, his rifle cocked.

 _Of course he wouldn't recognize me._ Izzy remembered belatedly. _For him, they had never met._ She was surprised at the bit of disappointment that welled up in her stomach. Her mom's words must have made more of an impression than she originally thought. All that stuff about keeping a sharp eye out and that she had seen nascent cognition in host behavior...Izzy shook her head to clear the thoughts out of her mind; she had no doubt that what her mother had seen was real, but Izzy also knew from her tour and Len's eager explanations that there were a million fail safes in place. Whatever her mom had seen decades ago was probably impossible now. The hosts were on tight reins.

 _"You remember me?"_

Her blood ran cold. Hector's attention was riveted on her, he looked totally bewildered. His eyes darted over her features, unconcerned with the danger surrounding them.

More gunshots. It seemed like two men had spotted them, and they took cover behind the trees in the flower beds less than 20 yards away. Hector reluctantly turned his attention back to the gunmen, commenting dully, "This furor, it is all for me. I feel so special."

She smiled, despite the circumstances, before her mind was taken with more pressing thoughts. _He had remembered her? How was that possible? He was reset. It_ occurred to her that Hector might have been simply responding to _her_ comment; she had known his name. And like anyone else, he probably assumed they had to have been long lost acquaintances. Hosts were programmed to roll with the punches. _Yes, that made perfect sense._

A bullet blew through the wooden door-frame and almost hit her shoulder. Izzy yelped and Hector fired a few expert shots in retaliation. Of course, the gunmen had already ducked back behind the decorative trees, starting the whole process of watching and waiting over again.

" _Puta madre..."_ Hector grumbled. "You have a gun?"

"Yes, I am hiding in a barn cowering because I have a gun," Izzy retorted drily, attempting to calm her racing heart. Her snarkiness wasn't personal, that bullet seemed _too_ real.

Hector cocked his jaw and tisked, mirroring her insufferably patronizing tone. "I find most women tend to cower in situations such as these, regardless of available weaponry."

"First of all, I'm _not_ most women. Second of all, _you_ need to meet more women."

He studied her for a moment, and Izzy thought she saw a hint of amusement lurking in his eyes. Turning his attentions back to the scene outside, he commented, "If I gave you a gun, would you promise to not shoot me with it?"

She nodded urgently. "Why would I shoot you with it?!" Gunshots rang out right by the barn door, indicating that more people had discovered the standoff and wanted in on the bounty. It gave the other men an opening to move closer to the barn. _God dammit._ Izzy tensed up. "Son of a bitch. They're _all_ after you?"

"No. Two assholes with big mouths at the saloon have a habit of turning into ten. And there is a rather large bounty on my head. You might have been looking to cash in," he grumbled, closing one eye and picking off two less crafty cowboys who hadn't thought to find cover. Without missing a beat, he took a small pistol out of his belt holster and slid it across the barn floor. "...Buy yourself a pretty new dress."

She scoffed, picking up the gun and studying it. "For someone who just hands out guns to strangers, you are certainly antagonizing."

"Perhaps I'm a sucker for a pretty face." Hector smirked. It seemed Izzy hadn't been wrong when she guessed he was unflappable— even out-manned and out-gunned he was a paragon of ease.

Well _she_ was certainly concerned about their current situation. Fortunately with the sun setting they might not be seen so easily in the barn, but it would be easy for someone to sneak up behind them from the other end. "You can't just kill them all," Izzy commented, staring out at the orange-red sky.

He gave her a pointed look and seemed tempted to refute that claim. "I have exceptional aim."

"Be that as it may," Izzy began. She looked him up and down with deliberation. "Unless your pants are stuffed with extra bullets, you won't have enough to murder everyone on the grounds. And if anyone is left alive, they'll know you're here and call the police—sheriff. Either way means we're fucked."

"Well what do you suggest we do?" he asked with annoyance, shoving his rifle into the holster across his back. He scooted across the doorway to stand beside her, a barrage of bullets following him. Izzy attempted to remain calm, but somehow his presence was even more unnerving than the prospect of being shot at.

He knew how he affected her. _It seemed like he knew exactly how he affected ladies in general._ Izzy frowned at the thought. _It was probably true—cocky asshole._ She was determined to not be swayed, and leveled her gaze up at him. "We make a run for it."

Hector reloaded and after a studying moment, managed to pick off another cowboy outside. Without looking at her, he responded, "Out of the barn?"

"It's getting dark. We— _you_ might be able to sneak out the other way—head away from the racetrack. I can distract them, keep returning fire until you've had a few minutes head start," Izzy explained, fiddling with the pistol. She had gotten basic gun safety before entering the park, but was still nervous about turning it on a person.

For a moment, she thought he was going to argue. Maybe his programming wouldn't allow him to leave her in perceived danger. Maybe he thought she wasn't capable of shooting the gun. Izzy didn't know. "I have shot a gun before, I'm not a totally inept princess."

He smiled slightly in amusement. "I never said you were."

"Then what was the 'Buy yourself a pretty new dress' comment?" Izzy retorted, mocking his accent.

"Ahh, I offended you. _Lo siento mucho, señorita_. I should have known by your attire that you are a _modern_ liberated woman."

She huffed at his mockingly polite Spanish. Gringo Spanish that anyone could understand. "Modern enough to save your ass. Now go. _Vete ya._ "

Hector nodded decisively, his eyebrow raised in mild interest when she switched to Spanish. He looked around the barn aisle and whistled. Like clockwork, a big bay gelding came trotting into view, the very one she recognized pulling the safe in Sweetwater. "Santo, my trick pony."

Izzy smiled at the horse who was shaking his head up and down. _"Encantada."_

And just like that, they were gone with a clattering of hooves against the hard-packed dirt.

* * *

Izzy took a deep breath to recenter herself before moving back to her post behind the door frame. She leveled the gun at a body hiding behind a tree and closed one eye. The shot exploded and she heard the man cry out in pain immediately. Squeezing her eyes shut against the flood of guilt, she fired another shot, a volley were returned. The door was becoming littered with holes, but that didn't matter. What mattered was causing a distraction.

Two men were killed, but it still left one of the expert bounty hunters behind the trees and a newcomer. It felt like they just kept coming, and with a last squeeze of the trigger, Izzy realized she was out of bullets. "Fuckkk..." she mumbled, her eyes darting the barn for a makeshift weapon. It would only be a matter of moments before they knew she was out of ammunition and came to collect.

 _Wait. Maybe that wasn't the worst thing. It had already been a few minutes since Hector had left, and they wouldn't attack her if they knew she was by herself._ This narrative thing had to be almost over by now, right? With most of the people dead and the main outlaw having disappeared? She dropped the gun and stepped into the dying light of the doorway. "It's just me! Please don't shoot!"

As she suspected, the cowboys put down their guns and the bounty hunter stepped out from behind the tree. "What you doin' there girlie? Don't you know there's a wanted criminal loose?"

"Oh, I know! That's why I was hidin' in the barn! There was so much chaos, I was so scared. I didn't know who was shooting!" Izzy faked her best southern belle, batting her eyelashes.

Naturally they fell for it. One cowboy, a young kid with dark brown hair walked up to her cautiously. "I understand, darlin', nothin' to be afraid about now. You not hurt 'er nothin'?"

Izzy shook her head with a smile, but fanned her face. "I just, I'm a little peaked."

He put a hand on her arm to steady her. She wished she knew if he was a host or a guest. She didn't want to shoot him to find out. "Of course. Let's get you back to the hotel, get some water and a place to rest."

"Why don't ya'll go get her that water. I'll escort her over in a moment."

Her eyes darted to the bounty hunter, a thin, blond man. "No it's okay..."

"I insist," he purred, walking over with confident strides. The young man seemed intimidated enough to back off and gave her a tip of his hat before retreating.

"So...darlin'…" he began. He grabbed her arm tightly and led her back into the barn. "You the one that rides with Hector?"

"No, I'm not. I don't even know him," she told him, a defiant edge creeping into her tone. She was not a fan of being manhandled.

The man kicked at the dusty ground and let out a chuckle. "You don't know him, you just helped him escape justice?"

"...wouldn't really consider a bounty hunter justice..." Izzy mumbled.

"What'd you say to me, girl?" _Ah. There it was, all semblance of niceties dropped._

"I said 'I wouldn't really consider a bounty hunter a bringer of justice'." She leveled her gaze with his, wishing she had a weapon. Even just a rock would have sufficed. She was too fast to open her mouth.

He smiled, a slimy, creepy smile. And that's when she noticed something; his teeth were perfect veneers, a stark contrast to the rest of him. _He was a guest._ "A mouth like that is gonna get you in trouble, bitch."

Her mind went into overdrive, trying to think of a weapon. Of course, if there was a distraction she could always...

 _"You were looking for me, friend?"_

The man wheeled around to see where the voice had come from. Without hesitation, Izzy punched him as hard as she could, causing him to cry out in pain. That was all it took for Hector to grab him, knife to throat.

"Grab his gun."

Izzy nodded and with a smirk of smug satisfaction, removed the man's belt. _"We'll just take all of this."_

He glared back icily and she heard him cast a muffled threat.

"A mouth like that's gonna get you in trouble, babe," she taunted.

"Should we kill you now, or leave you to bleed out? Hmm..." Hector pondered as he pressed the knife harder against the guest's throat. Izzy did notice that despite knowing he couldn't actually be hurt, the man looked terrified. Perhaps that was just the effect Hector was supposed to have on everyone in the park. He was built to be the boss villain of Sweetwater, right? You can't be an outlaw without playing the part.

And there definitely was a difference between Hector in "villain-mode" and Hector in "improv-mode".

Walking over to the closest stalls, Izzy gathered a few lead ropes off of the doors. "We should tie him up and lock him in a stall."

Hector did not seem satisfied with that suggestion. _"No eres divertida de ninguna manera,"_ he complained childishly. At a small wiggle, he reaffirmed his grip on the man, a dribble of blood appearing from under the knife.

She raised an eyebrow at him. _She was no fun? She would show him fun._ Holding his challenging gaze, Izzy grabbed a handkerchief from her belt and tied it around the bounty hunter's mouth. _Gagged._

"Pues, es posible que tienes potencial," he conceded, helping to tie the man up. His inner villain must have been satisfied by the panic in the man's eyes as an inconsequential amount of blood trickled from his neck. They worked in silence.

* * *

"Why did you come back for me?" Izzy asked. It was only after they had saddled her horse and were riding for cover outside of Fuego Amaroso that she finally broke the impasse that had settled between them.

In the darkness, she couldn't see his expression and his tone was flippant. "Because we were not finished with our conversation."

"But the whole point was for you to _escape._ And you just hung out instead. Why?" Izzy pressed. She didn't know why she wanted to know so badly, it probably stemmed from her host-wariness. Techs could explain it all they wanted, but she was still a little creeped-out by the face he made, by the recognition that had been in his eyes.

There was a pause before Hector answered, a tone of grim understanding in his voice. "Because I knew what was going to happen to you once you ran out of bullets. I would have never gotten my answers."

It didn't take any actual night vision to see him appraise her. She exhaled shakily—if he wasn't a host, he really could have assaulted her. He could have claimed he thought _she_ was a host. "Well I appreciate it. My hand hurts, but I appreciate it."

Hector chuckled. "That is quite the hook you have. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you."

He had said that to her once before, and it was an odd reminder that his dialogue was scripted. "No promises, I've punched more than three men in my life."

 _"More than three?"_

"Less than five."

He laughed again, a genuine off-guard laugh. It was such a natural, pleasing sound. "Well I suppose a person with a tongue as sharp as yours learns to be just as quick with the punches."

"How far out do you think we have to ride before I can circle back? I can't just ditch Len at the hotel," Izzy admitted begrudgingly. A part of her wanted to just keep riding to wherever Hector was going. Although he probably wouldn't be leading her to a less shootout-prone narrative.

"You? You're not going anywhere," Hector responded evenly. The words were threatening but they were delivered without any edge.

"Excuse me? Do you want to be number five?" she quipped with a frown.

"I became distracted by those _pinche_ cabrones, but now that there is no one shooting at me I can return to my original concern." He rode in front of her and cut her off. "You recognized me in the barn, _you know who I am. How?"_

Izzy's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't just a party trick, like she had hoped. He noticed her exclamation. She had no explanation for him, and her mind scrambled for some reasonable excuse for the slip.

"And before you lie or tell me you recognize me from a wanted poster, be aware that I recognized you as well. I just do not have the slightest notion why," Hector continued dryly. "It was you I was trying to find."

 _Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He recognized her from when they had met before?! Was he glitching? Had he not been reset properly?_ She said nothing. _What was she going to say, really?_

"This is yours, is it not?" He pulled something from his belt and handed it to her. _Her necklace. He had kept her necklace._ The concerning realization that she was in the middle of the desert at night with a malfunctioning cyborg, who had just threatened to gut someone, smacked Izzy upside the head. _Where was Len when she needed him? Oh wait...probably playing cowboy._

When she didn't respond, Hector rubbed his neck uncomfortably and cast his eyes downward. The bravado had died down. He put the key back in his belt, and as quickly as her fear had come on, a guilt mixed with it for not admitting her part in the story, for not substantiating his distress overrode it.

 _What would it be like to have memories you could not place? To be so sure of something, but have no evidence, because it all had been cleaned up when the curtain fell?_ That was one of the saddest things she had ever pondered.

Izzy couldn't hardly explain that his life was an elaborate lie and he was a robot, however. So naturally, she said the only thing she could: "It's complicated."

 _Understatement of the century._

"I am sure I could handle it. I just spent the night chasing after a crazy old man who told me my fortune," Hector mumbled. She was glad for the break in the tension.

"A crazy old man?" Izzy tried, but couldn't keep herself from laughing.

He shook his head slowly and her laughter continued. "It's been a tough couple days for you, huh?"

"You have no fucking idea."

It was at that point that Izzy made a decision, not allowing herself to dwell on the reasoning or possible ramifications. Only the overwhelming sympathy she felt for his situation guided her. Nodding in confirmation, she commented, "Let's head back to the racetrack. I have to go find Len, but that should only take a minute."

Hector nodded. He seemed to acknowledge this concession for what it was: _"I'm not saying yes, but I'm not denying it either."_ And Izzy was thankful for that as they turned the horses back around.

"Oh, but Hector? Do not, _under any circumstances,_ tell anyone that we met before."

She took his silence for agreement and was glad he didn't ask any further questions about it. No doubt hosts were able to pick up on anomalies and report to the QA team, someone he thought was a friend might get him flagged and taken back to Behavior. Certainly, Len would jump at the chance to do so. He seemed to have an abnormal enjoyment of the hosts' scripted behavior. He only mentioned their loops and story lines to her a million times, and Hector already had been in trouble once since they got to the park.

No. She had to let him run his course. He would be pinned down and reset soon enough, his reins tightened once more. She sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to facilitate it.

* * *

 **A/N: drop me a review? :)**


	11. Chapter 11

_"Gee_ I'm so glad we are eating in Izzy's room instead of down in the dining room where she could enjoy her food like a lady," Len commented, stabbing at the chicken on his plate while he balanced it on his outstretched hand.

There was a tense silence in the cramped hotel room. Len leaned on the dresser by the door, Izzy sat on the small bed, and Hector stood by the spiral footboard. There was hardly room for the three of them plus the furniture, and there was _definitely_ not enough room for all of the machismo posturing that was happening, of that Izzy was certain.

After waiting until the sun had set completely, Izzy and Hector had returned to Fuego Amaroso and the small hotel she was staying. She wasn't surprised that the majority of the racetrack was suspiciously clean compared to the gore-fest it had been earlier. No doubt it was attributed to the grave-diggers and sheriffs finally showing up.

Len had been thrilled to see her, Hector not so much. Hector didn't seem too keen on Len either, despite the more than amiable introductions. _If he remembered her, did he remember Len as well? It didn't seem like he did._ He had kept his word, however, and they made up some vague story about how they met during the shootout. After that, most niceties were dropped and they retreated to opposite sides of the room and waited for dinner to be served.

 _That_ was a long wait.

 _"I am glad you were there when she was being attacked by a bounty hunter."_

A muscle ticked in Len's jaw and Hector leveled his gaze on him from across the room.

Izzy glared between the two men, daring one of them to make another remark. This had been going on long enough. "Me too. And that's why Hector is here. Because despite not knowing me, he still was gracious enough to keep me from being molested. So everyone just eat your goddamn food."

Len missed the side-eye Hector gave Izzy. Hector missed the side-eye Len gave Izzy. Both of them thought they were pulling something over on the other one. She sighed deeply, pursing her lips in a pleading gesture. _Please don't say anything, Hector. Pleaseeee don't._

"I am just _that_ gracious."

His dark eyes bored into hers, but he seemed content to follow her lead. Maybe "content" wasn't the right word. As he stood next to her, he thrummed with a sort of intense energy that made her horribly aware he was not going to humor her forever. The Hector she had seen come one finger-slip away from slicing a man's throat, who shot the deputy at point blank range, was still there, lurking.

That was the most disconcerting part of the whole thing— _his duality. Just like earlier, when she had noted his two seemingly disjointed personalities, Hector was putting on a show for Len. Just like all the hosts in the park, he was following a carefully navigated script. Only the looks he shared with her gave away what was really going on under the surface. He wasn't truly content to verbally spar with Len as if they were two gentlemen in a cinematic love-triangle—although it did seem like he thoroughly enjoyed pressing Len's buttons. No. He was waiting for an opportunity to demand answers from her. Hector was playing Hector Escaton._

 _Nothing could possibly go wrong in this situation. Nope._

Thankfully, the men lapsed into silence and they were able to finish their meal in peace.

"Do you gentlemen think you could make yourselves scarce for a while? I'd like to get some sleep," Izzy asked, feigning a yawn. She didn't really have to pretend, though. It had to be 2am by now.

"Of course, Iz. There's a poker game downstairs I'll join," Len appraised Hector, who was already appraising him. "I don't know what we are going to do with you, though. Maybe since you killed all the bounty hunters, nobody will recognize you and you can join too."

 _"Len..."_ Izzy moaned, her head in her hands.

"There are plenty of brown men around these parts. It will not be hard for me to blend in, _especially now that I have killed all the bounty hunters._ Perhaps I will take you up on your offer and join." Hector agreed.

Something in the way they were staring at each other told Izzy that they weren't really agreeing on anything. And probably never would. Ever.

"Great, so everyone go to your respective places!" she interjected with false cheeriness. Hector stared at her and she averted her eyes, adding. "And tomorrow morning we will meet back up to head to our next stop." _I am not trying to run from you._

"Which is where?" Hector asked.

"Pariah."

Hector scoffed.

"What?" Len countered.

"There are a lot of bounty hunters in Pariah," he commented with a shrug.

"Well maybe you shouldn't come along."

"But then who is going to save your damsel next time she is in distress?"

The way Hector pretended to ponder the dilemma was the last straw. Izzy forced herself not to burst out laughing. She was so tired and her brain was fried from the day's chaos, seeing Len get so easily flustered was just too funny. He looked like he was going to explode. _Really, hats off to whoever designed Hector's dialogue._

Granted, she felt a little bad. It was obvious that Len was hoping to impress her with his badassery and cowboy skills during their time at the park. He was going to be the bigshot who could show her the ropes. Instead here he was, being verbally bested by a roguishly handsome Latino for the second time. Bummer for him.

Soon enough, however, Izzy herded both men out of the room and her mind sobered. She had a very real issue to face. _Hector remembered her._ It seemed like he didn't remember anything other than her face though, and for that she was glad. How would one explain away his death in Sweetwater, explain that her position in his timeline had yet to occur?

Walking over to the dresser by the door, Izzy unlocked one of the small drawers that was built into the vanity top and pulled out a phone. There was something to be said for owning part of the park and having a mother who helped build the hosts, she had even fewer rules to follow than the normal guests.

Double checking that the door to the room was locked, she sat down on the floral bedspread and dialed a familiar number.

* * *

"Sir?"

Lee Sizemore looked up from the sketch on his desk to see a young QA tech standing at the glass door to his office. The man looked slightly uncomfortable. "Come in."

"Mr. Sizemore, uh sir, we picked up a call coming from Zone 5, I was told to tell you if Isabella Moore made any notable movements."

"A phone call? In the park? To whom, may I ask?" Lee asked, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach.

"The call was traced to Susan Moore. It ended less than five minutes ago," the tech explained. He touched on his tablet and held the display out for Lee to see.

Pulling out his earbuds, Lee paired them to the device before pressing play.

 _"You have reached the voice mail box of SUSAN MOORE. Please leave a message after the tone."_

 _"Hey mom...shit. I forgot it was so late. I don't actually even know what time it is back in LA. I hope I didn't wake you up. Um, mom...when you told me about those moments in the lab, the moments when you thought the hosts were displaying original actions and thoughts...could you maybe elaborate?"_

There was a prolonged pause, and for a second Lee thought that the recording had ended.

 _"Because I think I just witnessed one."_

"Bloody fucking—" Lee swore under his breath as his stomach dropped. He had to act quickly, do something to bring her back into the fold before her mother filled her head with nonsense. First, he had to know the situation that she was referring to.

"Which host is she interacting with?" he practically demanded of the tech before reminding himself to remain calm. He couldn't let it seem like anything was going on.

"She is at Fuego Amaroso and has been since midday, with Len Price. The only host she has had prolonged contact with was Hector Escaton, which began at 19:28 when he triggered a shootout."

Lee scrunched his face in confusion, his mind racing. "There aren't any shootouts at Fuego Amaroso! And what the hell was Hector doing there?!"

The tech flinched slightly but straightened his shoulders. "He was interacting with a guest that took him off-loop from the river campsite after rescuing him from Los Diablos. He spent a night at the guest's camp and then headed to Fuego Amaroso without tech approval, where he was for approximately an hour before triggering a shootout and beginning his interactions with Miss Moore. There is a wanted poster of him in the saloon for decoration. It seems like a guest and his host guide recognized him."

Lee was only half-listening, furiously tapping and typing on the tablet in front of him.

 _HOST RECALL: Do you want to recall [HECTOR ESCATON]?_

He pressed the "Yes" button.

 _RECALL ERROR: Host has been locked by administrator: LOWE/BERNARD_

 _To recall host, [HECTOR ESCATON], privileges must be unlocked by administrator_

He almost threw the tablet across the room in frustration. _Why did things never work when you needed them too?_ "What does this mean? Why has he been locked?"

"Um...according to the activity log Hector was flagged for behavior and after examination Bernard wanted to keep a close eye on him. I will call him now and see if he can override the system," the tech gushed, attempting to be of some use to his distraught boss.

"Better yet, I'll do it." Lee pulled up the phone app on the screen and scrolled to find Bernard. After a dozen "rings" he jabbed the "end call button". "Go see if he is in the lab."

"Yes sir."

As soon as he was alone again, Lee slumped back into his plush desk chair and let out a sigh. Allowing himself one moment to collect his thoughts, he pulled out the flask from his desk drawer and took a swig. He then opened the map on his tablet and found Fuego Amaroso. With his phone, he made a separate call as he zoomed in on the livestream of the racetrack's darkened paths.

 _"What is it, Sizemore?"_

"We have a fucking _problem."_

 _"You said Miss Moore was handled."_

"Well she was, but that fucking prick of a host found her again. She's called her mum and asked her some very concerning questions about host cognition. Seems he gave her quite the fright and now we're back at square one, no, square negative one!"

 _"You're saying she doesn't understand the host technology? I thought you gave her a tour to explain exactly how they worked. What the hell was it that you and Len were doing?"_

"I—I thought she was calmed down, but I'm looking into it. Quite honestly, I think this could be used to our advantage if we play it right. Hector is a fucking psycho, but he might not be the largest issue."

 _"Hector, the big bad from Sweetwater? I thought you said he was flagged for aberrant behavior after their first run-in?"_

Lee groaned. "He was, but apparently he was let off with a warning. I tried to have him recalled a minute ago, but Lowe has a lock on him. One of my techs is going to clear it up right now. But like I said, I think his misbehavior might work for us."

 _"Do tell."_

"You, I, along with the rest of the intellectuals of Delos understand that the hosts are becoming too lifelike, especially now with the most recent software update. They need to be rolled back to a point that is more manageable. I think we can get Miss Moore to agree with us, and at a point in the very near future, her vote is going to be very important."

 _"Do what you need to."_

The line went dead, but Lee was already lightheaded with the relief that came with all of his ass-saving ideas. He tapped on the icons for two hosts who were sitting in a mostly empty saloon. Nothing made someone agree with your point-of-view faster than mortal danger.

"Suddenly, the gunslingers feel like an injustice was done today when the bounty hunters were killed by Hector Escaton and his accomplice. They feel they were friends with the bounty hunters and want to avenge them. They realize that the accomplice is walking out into the livery stable and choose to take action."

He tapped the profile of a nearby barmaid. [RETASK]

* * *

The saloon downstairs in their tiny hotel was even less inspiring than the one closer to the track. Full of smoke and the smell of stale alcohol, the remaining inhabitants were either too involved in their umpteenth round of cards or too drunk to care.

Len sat at the only inhabited poker table with four men, pretty standard issue-looking white hats. Hector stood by the bar, surveying the space as a chatty bartender continued to make small talk. _Well it beat being shot it, at least._ Although the longer the rambling went on, the more Hector re-examined his options.

"Haven't seen you around these parts."

Hector turned his attention to the saccharinely sweet voice. A pretty Latina woman batted her eyelashes at him, striding closer with an overt swaying of her hips.

 _He did not pay for sex. Nothing about that appealed to him._ Hector turned back to his bottle of tequila _. Where was his new bartender best friend when he could have made himself useful?_

The woman 'hmpfed' and sat down next to him in all of her gaudy, flamboyant glory. "¿Ay papi, que pasa? ¿No soy bonita?"

Hector sighed, turning and preparing to leave, when he saw her face in the dim lighting. She _was_ very beautiful, he was surprised to see. Under all of her makeup she bore a striking resemblance to Isabella. _His Isabella_. The impact of seeing that face after so many years was completely disorienting. Of course, he knew it wasn't her, she hadn't come back from the grave to haunt him, but at the same time he couldn't disengage from the doppelgänger in front of him.

The woman must have noticed him falter and scooted closer, taking a drink from his bottle. "Come on, I know a place we can go where we can be alone."

He found himself allowing her to lead him out of the saloon and into the night.

* * *

"Um, Dr. Lowe?" The tech immediately realized that Dr. Lowe was not alone in the behavior lab and fought an urge to bow at Dr. Ford as he came into view. He had never gotten to see the legendary doctor before in close quarters. "I apologize for the interruption, but Mr. Sizemore tried to call you and it was urgent."

Bernard adjusted his glasses and smiled cordially. "Please, _Bernard._ I apologize for not answering the phone, I was in the middle of something."

"Oh, sorry. _Bernard._ Mr. Sizemore attempted to recall a host and it looks like you placed a lock on him. He was hoping you could lift it."

"Ah, I see. Which host would he be referring to?" Bernard responded, opening the tablet and pressing a series of tabs.

"Hector Escaton. He was one of the last hosts to be given the update and it seems like he is fragmenting."

"Hector, yes. I brought him in a couple days ago and he checked out fine, I have a lock on him because I wanted to monitor him more closely. May I ask what Lee considers fragmentation?"

The tech shifted nervously. He didn't really know what Mr. Sizemore was referring to. It seemed like the host had wandered off his loop after extended guest interaction, that was not unheard of. "I am not sure, he didn't actually tell me."

Dr. Ford chuckled and exchanged a glance with Bernard. "Lee certainly put you in a difficult position, young man. We will examine the situation with Hector and relay the results as soon as possible."

"Mr. Sizemore made it seem like it was a park safety issue. The host needed to be recovered immediately."

"If it is that serious, we will look into it right now. I'll call him when we are done and tell him whether or not the host was recalled," Bernard assured him. With that, the tech realized he had been politely dismissed.

* * *

Hector walked with the woman, her arm around his waist as her head rested on his shoulder. She purred in his ear and stroked his hair. Between the alcohol and company, it would have been easy to ignore everything going on around him, if people didn't have to be so fucking loud.

Two drunk men, whom Hector recognized from Len's poker game walked out of the saloon whooping and hollering about absolutely nothing. _Idiotas_. Or at least he had _assumed_ they were babbling about nothing; he picked up something about "getting that bitch" and his interest was piqued.

"What's wrong, papi?" the woman asked cutely, attempting to pull him along. He glanced down at her but then squinted into the darkness to see where the men were walking, rolling his eyes when he noticed the only other human out on the street.

 _"Puta madre."_

Izzy was walking into the livery stable at the other end of the street, no doubt believing she was alone. Why he agreed to let her out of his sight, Hector didn't know. _She was going to run off on him! And he had taken so many pains to find her! Oh no, she was not going anywhere!_

He was going to make some lame excuse to the woman on his hip, but as he studied her face in the darkness he realized that she looked nothing like Isabella. He felt bizarrely deceived by his own brain. In the bar she must have done something that reminded him of her, and he ran with it. He had wanted to see her so badly that this woman filled a void in his mind.

The men quieted down considerably as they closed in on the stable, Izzy had already disappeared into the doorway.

"Get off of me," Hector commented, still looking into the distance.

 _"Como?"_

He physically removed himself from her grasp when she didn't move fast enough and took off running.

Whether he was inserting himself into the situation to keep her from escaping or saving her from some dumbass gringos, Hector was not sure.

It was only after he was concealed in the shadows of the stalls that he got his answer. The telltale sound of a gun connecting with a skull broke the silence, followed by a loud thud.

Hector decided it was a good time to interject.

* * *

"Robert, it does look like there has been some aberrant behavior. I agree that he needs to be brought in and wiped. Maybe rolled back. It's not like we would be considered remiss for not having a gunslinger with reveries," Bernard joked, studying the host's edit log. It was never good when the same host had two issues so close together, especially when one was so dangerous.

Dr. Ford stood with his back to him, studying the story maps on the wall of the office. "If Lee cannot even explain what the issue was, other than a little wandering, we should not disturb Miss Moore's gameplay."

"With all due respect, there was no precedent for Hector stabbing her. I patched him as well as I could, but I have no idea where the glitch came from, so until he does it again, we cannot be sure that she is not in real danger from him."

"Hector is many things, but first and foremost a gentleman. You should be proud of him, Bernard. It was your Good Samaritan programming that allowed him to save Miss Moore in the first place," Ford teased.

"What if next time he perceives her to be the threat? He has one of the highest aggression levels for any host in the park now." Bernard did not find this funny. Elsie was right, there was a pattern developing that needed to be stopped.

Dr. Ford turned back to him with a fatherly smile. " _He also has a very high bulk apperception._ You are right, Bernard. How about we come to a compromise, one that I think we can all be happy with. I will speed up Hector's timeline, and he will be sent back to Sweetwater Hills to plan for the saloon heist. It is a bit early, but Lee rewrote Hector's speech and would really like it to be heard in its entirety. We had a new slew of guests come in yesterday who I am sure would like to see a good shootout. And then he'll be at the end of his loop. Once he has run his course, we will recall him and give him a thorough vetting. Maybe a full rebuild."

"My point exactly. He is a very dangerous host, and he has all weapon _and_ fire privileges. We are going to watch him closely. If he does one more thing, no matter how minor, I will recall him and reset him," Bernard responded with concern.

"Of course, Bernard. Our guest's safety is priority, especially with the gala coming up. We don't need any incidents for the board to use against us." There was a pause before Ford continued, "But Bernard understands how important it is for Hector to remain on the update. He will not roll Hector back, because he understands Hector requires his reveries."

"So we are in agreement, then." Bernard smiled warmly.

Ford nodded in response. "That we are."


	12. Chapter 12

As soon as she heard the door to the stable open, Izzy froze. Turning back to see where the sound came from, she felt pain explode in the back of her head. She assumed it was supposed to knock her unconscious—the way it did in movies—but it did hurt like a bitch. Unfortunately, it threw her off long enough for her assailant to grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her backward and to the ground. Crying out, she reached up and dug her nails into the hand holding her until she realized there were two of them.

In the darkness of the barn, Izzy knew she just had to wait for an opportunity to get away. If she couldn't see, then the idiots who decided to attack her could not either. They hadn't brought a lantern, or even thought to leave the door open. _Duh. And she had snuck out of this building earlier so she had an advantage._

Almost as quickly as the onslaught began, it was paused by the inorganic scuffing sound of boots on the dirt-packed floor. Izzy took the distraction as a chance to get her feet back under her, but immediately lost her balance. She felt a sharp tug on her hair.

"The hell was that?" the man with a hold on her grumbled. "Go check it out."

The other man seemed like he was going to argue, but instead Izzy heard the cocking of a pistol as he edged toward the front of the shadowy barn.

"Wait, light one of them lanterns first."

A small circle of the barn aisle was flooded with warm flickering light, although the shadows bled into it, fading into inky blackness around the corner of the stalls where the sounds came from.

The cowboy inched away until he disappeared around the stall.

"Now, let's teach you some manners. You killed some real stand up men, protectin' your boyfriend earlier..."

There was the sound of scuffling and a choked gasp.

"Lyndon?" His attention was again diverted, but so was Izzy's. _Had Len realized she was gone?_ She squeezed her eyes against the throbbing in her head.

Lyndon finally stepped back into the fringes of the light after an agonizing minute, but Izzy would never forget the gurgling sound that came from his lips as he held his throat. His other hand was outstretched toward them, blood pouring from the long gouge in his neck like a pulsating river.

Izzy slapped a hand over her mouth, fighting a wave of nausea while she watched the host sink to his knees and eventually fall to the ground. Choking and gurgling permeated the quiet until he stilled permanently. A grisly pool of red continued to expand below him.

Shee would never get used to this. This casual, demented violence.

"What the fuck?"

She agreed with the host's utterance completely.

Detecting movement in the darkness, Izzy stared ahead as a shadow seemed to come to life, long and lean as it noiselessly slunk out of the darkness.

Izzy didn't think she would ever see a more poetic sight than that of the desperado, dressed in black, his visage hidden by the erratic licks of lantern light. Flecks of shiny blood covered his face and leather jacket, and his eyes burned with a murderous intensity. He was in his element, and it was a thrilling mix of macabre beauty.

Even with her mind working in slow motion, it only took a split second for a shot to go off and the man behind her to fall to the ground, a round hole in the center of his forehead.

Nonchalantly, Hector holstered his rifle and strode over to where she was sitting, having wiggled uncutely away from the dead host.

"Estás bien?" he asked, crouching down in front of her.

If Izzy's head wasn't throbbing, she would have thought his 180 in character was amusing. Tears pricked her eyes. "He pistol-whipped me and my head hurts really bad."

He paused for a second and seemed confused. It passed quickly and he removed a glove with his teeth, leaning over he and gingerly touching her head. "Did you black out?"

Izzy shook her head and immediately regretted it. She cringed at the pain.

"You're not bleeding. Do you feel tired or numb?" Hector continued his ministrations, pressing on her skull.

"No."

"Nauseated?"

"No," Izzy groaned as he poked a sensitive spot. "Can I just sit for a second?"

"Because you cannot stand or because you are nauseated?" he insisted, sitting back.

"Why do you think I would lie to you?" she retorted, meeting his eyes.

"Why were you running away?" he snapped.

Izzy was silent, she hadn't been expecting that. "I wasn't running away. I couldn't sleep and so I checked on the horses. It calms me down. I told you we had to go back to find Len, and then we would figure it out. Hector, I am a lot of things, but I am woman of my word."

The pain in her head was becoming hard to ignore and she squeezed her eyes shut. "My head fucking hurts."

His hands were back on her, tilting her face up to his. If she hadn't known better, Izzy would have considered it a very romantic position. He studied her eyes closely and seemed satisfied by what he found. Possibly checking her pupils.

"Well you were...what was the word you used? _Pistol-whipped_."

Her interest was piqued. "What would you call it?"

He looked at her like she was from another planet. "Buffaloed. But I like that better, very concise."

Izzy wondered if they could learn new words, or if it was just a scripted response to new vocabulary, a plug-in equation. She leaned against a stall door and Hector sat down beside her. She could feel his warmth and it was welcomed in the cool barn. They sat for a moment in silence.

"Do you feel well enough to stand? Would you like me to fetch your boyfriend?" he asked, toying with the gloves in his hands.

As soon as she said it, she knew she had said it too fast. "Len is not my boyfriend. And, _mini-rant time,_ Len has been totally useless this entire vacation. I've been in danger three times and he has been absent, so no. With my luck he would somehow make this worse. How, I don't know."

She thought she had gotten too modern for her host counterpart with her most recent comments, he didn't know how to respond.

"There could be a fire."

Izzy turned to him and he shrugged casually, causing her to burst out laughing. "Oh god, that's true. There could be a fire. Ouch dammit my head."

Hector chuckled. "We should at least get you off the ground, if you are sure you are well enough to stand."

"Yeah. But I can't go to sleep because what if I have a brain aneurism from delayed head trauma and die?" she commented, realizing that she shouldn't have said that out loud.

He eyed her with concern. "Is that...something that happens to people often?"

"Yeah actually it's pretty common for skull fractures and blunt force trauma to have delayed symptoms and complications."

"From...pistol whipping?"

Izzy nodded. "From any sort of blunt force trauma."

"I am intrigued," he admitted, smirking. "How does the little city girl know so much about head wounds?"

"First of all," she pointed a finger, "I am 27, I just look like I'm 16. Secondly, I'm a lawyer back home. I prosecute mostly violent crime, murders, assault, etcetera."

Hector sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh fuck me. Out of all the women, I happen to find the one tha..."

The memory of sitting around the campfire, him speaking those exact words hit her, and she was shocked to see a concerned look on his face as he gazed back at her.

"We've been here before," Hector mumbled. He seemed as troubled as she was, perhaps more. At least she could place the memory.

"Well, rest assured, I would not try you for your crimes or shoot you to collect a bounty. Not my style to double-cross people," Izzy quickly filled in the dead space lingering. She hoped he didn't press her.

Hector turned back to her, his eyes boring into her as if he was trying to find the untruth somewhere on her face. It was completely unnerving to have someone blood-splattered yet devastatingly handsome staring into her soul.

"Perhaps I did underestimate you."

She grinned with false charm. "People do that. I think it's my doll-like looks and perfectly shiny hair."

He laughed.

* * *

The problem with Hector's... _issue_ (Izzy hated to call it a malfunction), was that she didn't quite know what behavior was what. She was secretly concerned about going to sleep with a concussion, and Hector offered to sit up for what was left of the night to make sure she didn't die.

That could have been him being agreeable, or, like his earlier detailed first-aid check, a built-in code for guest protection. She didn't know.

When he offered to watch her in the bath, she had gotten a better idea. _Dangerous path_. And Izzy realized part of her was a little eager to fuel the fire.

When Len had informed her that Hector had left early in the morning, Izzy was both confused and mildly disappointed. _How had he just left them? After everything that had happened?_

"Well, we have to go back to Sweetwater, then," Izzy declared as the ladies' maid finished her French braid. "Camila, thank you. Could you make sure my trunks are packed and sent back to the Mariposa?"

The petite maid curtsied. "Of course, miss."

Len watched the host trot out the door and closed it before they continued. "Why, Iz? Because he remembered you? And don't look at me like that, it wasn't hard to figure out. For a lawyer you had absolutely no chill. Besides, Hector never leaves his loop, let alone his entire zone to wander this far. It was probably all part of the same glitch from the last update."

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "You told on him?"

He gawked. "Do not make me the bad guy! We aren't running an underground railroad... we're in a theme park. If a host is malfunctioning, it is our duty as board members to report it. Izzy, what if it hurt you? The glitch already allowed it to stab you once..."

"Which wasn't enough of an issue to recall him, but you get your ego bruised too many times and suddenly it's an issue," Izzy retorted, growing increasingly livid.

"You pitched a royal fit the last time."

"Fuck you, Len."

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Besides, he wasn't recalled. Just on an adjusted timeline. He's going to rob the saloon...and then he'll do it another time next week. Apparently, that never gets old for people, and with Ford's narrative screwing with all of the other narratives, it serves as a good distraction for the newcomers."

"Ah, and finally we get to the real point of this whole thing. You're trying to scare me into changing my mom's vote on Ford as proxy. Well I won't, Len. It isn't my place to do that," Izzy clarified, standing from her chair and walking up to him.

He smiled sadly. "Izzy, I care about your safety. The newest update is causing a lot of issues, and I don't want you hurt even worse. Those two hosts that came after you were immediately sent to Quality Assurance."

She clenched her jaw, immune to his All-American boy charm. "You can thank Hector for that."

"He was literally doing his job. His main job as a host is to not harm you, and the fact that he has only managed to do that 80% of the time demonstrates that the hosts are malfunctioning. They need to be rolled back to a more simplistic build, made more manageable, for everyone's safety," Len reasoned, attempting to touch her arm.

She shrugged him away. "God you are so transparent, Len. You inherited absolutely no tact from your father. He found me, Len. He was confused and scared and he sought me out. I'm not going to let another dipshit like Craig kill him."

Len looked like he was going to comment, but Izzy beat him to it. Closing the space between them, she touched his arm. "And if you want any hope for me changing that vote, you will say absolutely nothing about this again."

"I'm sorry you think so little of me, Iz. I want to help you. Of course, I won't say anything more, but I wish you wouldn't want to leave right away. You had a crazy first few days between your leg and head, and a half-day of rest would do you a lot of good. Hector won't gather the gang to rob the saloon for at least another day. You should eat, relax, see if you can nap today, and then we can leave tomorrow morning. We still have a week and a half before the gala," he reasoned. "I can't imagine you slept well last night."

He sounded so sincere, Izzy felt a little guilty, until the last part. Poor Len didn't know how close he was to making a really good point—he had to ruin it.

"I slept fine, if you must know. But I think you're right. I don't want to look like a zombie when we see Charlotte," she acknowledged. "Len, if you want to know if I had sex with a robot, just ask."

He swallowed hard, shame-faced.

"I did not." Even if he had looked perfect for the desperado, bodice-ripping, historical romance-whatever she had claimed she had wanted so badly in her tirade to QA.

Len seemed appeased. "I was thinking of doing some shooting with a posse later today, can we plan on dinner?"

She nodded with a tight-lipped smile. And Len passed by the maid as he exited and she reentered.

"Camila, could you draw me a bath?"

"Of course, miss. Oh, and before it slips my mind, you received a telegram." Camila handed her the letter.

IZZY

I HAVE FRIENDS HERE TOO!

DON'T TALK ABOUT THOSE THINGS ON THE PHONE. THEY ARE ALWAYS LISTENING.

CALL ME LATER FOR A COVER. I TRUST YOU TO KNOW WHAT YOU SEE.

DESTROY THIS LETTER.

LOVE,

MOM

* * *

The situation in the glass room was tense, and Bernard knew Elsie was not going to stand for Theresa's declaration. He just wished he had been there when their discussion began instead of having to walk into the already tense situation.

It was only a matter of time before...

 _"Your team?"_ Elsie questioned, her eyes darting up from the tablet on the table. _"Are you kidding me?"_

Bernard thought that she might break the poor QA tech's hand when he slid the tablet away from her.

"Look, this guy couldn't debug a balled-up napkin!" Elsie shifted nervously on her chair. "If—if you would like us to figure out what went wrong here, we need to be allowed to access it."

Suddenly the two women were toe-to-toe again, and he took a moment to study them, one small, young, bullish, the other older, tall, refined. They couldn't be more different, yet both so good at their jobs.

"No more second chance, QA will handle events like this from now on," Theresa declared. She turned to him, acknowledging his presence for the first time. "Is that going to be a problem, Bernard?"

He sighed, but what could he do? He couldn't publicly oppose her. "We've all got plenty of work on our plates. If you guys want to take this one, fine. Just get us a copy of the postmortem when it's done."

With that, Theresa turned and he realized they were dismissed.

Bernard was not surprised to hear Elsie's rapid footfalls behind him in the hallway.

"You know, I always figured you gave me this job because I speak my mind," she began in her no-nonsense way.

"I did," he conceded.

"Good, I would have preferred you not show up at all if the first thing you were going to do is cave."

"They think we're not telling them something..." Bernard began.

"And we're not! There is obviously a pattern of behavior here, first there was Abernathy, now there's this, those two rogue hosts at Fuego Amaroso, and we're treating Hector like some kind of 'how little can we actually fix and still clear him' game. I mean, I've got hosts imagining voices and climbing mountaintops to consult their astrological chart. This is not a fucking glitch, and for some reason, you don't want me to tell anyone. It's like everybody around here has a fucking agenda except for me and-" Elsie ranted.

Bernard grabbed her arm and continued to lead her down the hall. He understood her concern, but he also knew she was very young. She didn't have the luxury of experience he did.

"I remember when I first started here, the hosts seemed very lifelike. You begin to read things into their behaviors."

"Don't be patronizing," Elsie warned.

"The hosts don't imagine things, you do. There are three stars in Orion's belt, not four. Do we really want QA meddling in our affairs? Let them deal with the Woodcutter and the two cowboys, we will look over the postmortems and probably find some things that QA missed. Let Len have his speech, Hector is following his most recent command and the saloon heist will go off later today. Let them think they're in control," he reasoned.

She nodded, but he knew she wasn't completely satisfied.

* * *

Izzy's blood ran cold as a familiar hush fell over the town. The pianola in the neighboring saloon struck up "Paint It Black"— _had the scene come with background music last time? Did the hosts notice it, or was it purely for the spectators?_

Unlike the first time she had watched this scene unfold, a sense of calm came over her. One that came from a better understanding of the park's inner workings. It was like a play was beginning before her eyes, but this time she would decide the ending.

The cloaked riders, a white horse in the lead, rode into the center of town. This time they made it all the way to the general store's greying hitching posts before the formidable deputy reached them.

Izzy held her breath.

"If you're riding into town under the company of armed men, you'll have to state your business."

 _"Mayhem."_ The shot rang out and the deputy fell. Hector threw his blanket off with a theatrical panache, emptying the rifle's spent shell and swinging down from the horse with athletic refinement. Izzy realized, inappropriately, that she appreciated looking at him a lot more now.

"Miss! Miss! Come away!"

Izzy turned to see her ladies' maid from the Mariposa, Annie, running down the deck of the feed store toward her.

"Miss, nothing good is going to come of this now! The best we can do is hide, the Good Lord only knows what savages do to women like us," she grabbed Izzy's shirtsleeve and pulled frantically.

Izzy looked around her as the shooting began, Armistice stood as the sentinel, gunning down people at random, and Hector had disappeared into the Mariposa. There were two extra guests riding with them as well.

"Annie," she said calmly, holding the terrified host's arms. "You need to find shelter, run as far out of the town as you can. I'll be alright."

"But, but..."

She smiled, unable to hide her affection for the little host. "I'll see you later, be safe."

Annie took off. Izzy walked the other direction, down the front porches of the stores toward the saloon.

* * *

Hector entered the room, kicking the door closed behind him and leaning back. He would humor the woman, the madame at the Mariposa. His mother taught him early on to respect women...plus she had a gun to his head. There was no better argument in the world, no amount of pretty words, that could beat a gun to the head to get people to capitulate.

Add in the free bottle of whiskey and this was a banner day.

"Now, my lovely friend, what deal is it that you want to make?" Hector didn't have all day, he had a safe to steal and no doubt the cavalry was being called in, thanks to Armistice's antics. Soon they would be outgunned by sheer number, and Hector didn't foresee a positive outcome should that be the case.

The madame eyed him with a critical stern expression from across the room as she rifled through a drawer before coming to lean on the large green safe in the middle of the room.

"You're here for what's in the safe."

He mirrored her disinterested smugness. "Now how would you know that?"

"I can always tell when a man wants something that's not- _on the menu,"_ she purred.

Now he was interested. He took another swig from the bottle.

"I'll give you the combination-"

There was a loud banging on the door behind him and the madame looked at it in annoyance. To Hector, she seemed like someone with power, someone who didn't like having their plans or persuasive speeches interfered with.

Pretty polite for the gringos to start knocking now.

 _"Open the door!"_

Hector bit down on his tongue as he opened the door a crack. As suspected, a large blue eye met his on the other side. _Wasn't she going to Pariah?_ _Had she followed him? How had she known where he was going to be?_ He knew he shouldn't trust her, and now she had probably brought the white hats right to him. _Puta madre._ This is what he got for allowing his infatuation for a woman to cloud his judgement. He should have just cornered her and forced her to tell him whatever information she had.

 _"Or just stand there so we look really suspicious. Come on, I'm trying to help you."_

Hector seriously considered shooting her, just putting himself out of his misery. But then he would never have the answers, and he could always shoot her later.

Yes, he could always shoot her later.

He opened the door and let her in.

 _"No digas ni una palabra."_ Do not say a word.


	13. Chapter 13

"And who might you be?" Maeve inquired from her position by the safe.

Izzy looked at Hector with false cheeriness, crossing her arms over her pinstriped blouse in a subtle challenge. Hector only assumed she was mocking him after his last menacing words to her. He scowled at her.

An uncomfortable amount of time passed before Hector realized Izzy was not going to answer the madame. She was going to take his threat literally, and usually he would be pleased with that, _because his threats were always meant to be taken literally and seriously._ But not when taking the threat literally meant that he looked like an idiot.

"She is an associate of mine."

Maeve deliberately looked between the two of them, an eyebrow raised. "For the sake of my personal agenda, I'm going to pretend like that was at all convincing."

Hector rubbed his beard, feeling like an outsider as the two women turned their attention toward each other. Izzy's face was that of measured castigation, and he wondered what she was really thinking.

Finally, Maeve relented in the silent battle of wills, squaring her shoulders. "I will give you the combination to the safe in exchange for some answers."

He gave a breathy, borderline-insane, chuckle. _She wanted answers? She wanted answers from him? He had absolutely no answers. He had less answers than he thought he did last week._ "You assume I have any answers..." He couldn't help but glance at his "associate"—the cause of this whole mind fuck. "This world is madness."

Izzy had the decency to remove her disinterested expression. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her jaw clenched; she was annoyed. Good. He hoped she was pissed off. He was pissed off.

Maeve held up a drawing. "I want to know about this."

Hector recognized the figure immediately. Izzy's sharp intake of breath told him that she did as well. _Interesting._ "This is a Shade, sacred native lore."

Maeve nodded, lighting a cigar and urging him to continue.

"They make figures of them." Hector decided he had told her enough to earn part of the combination and waited expectantly.

"60."

He crouched in front of the safe and entered the number. Maeve looked at him. "And what does the Shade do?"

Hector stole a glance at Izzy, just to see if she had slid back into measured impassivity. He was unnerved to see that she was tensed, her eyes boring holes into the floor. He turned his attention back to the madame. "You have seen this?"

She dodged. "What is it?"

Both women watched him intently. "The man who walks between worlds. They were sent from Hell to oversee our world."

Maeve nodded curtly. "47."

Izzy was no longer avoiding eye contact. She stared at him—her brow was furrowed and her mouth fell slightly open. A small thrill of victory coursed through him. _See? He had some insights too. She wasn't the only one who could be confounding!_

Casually turning his attention to Maeve, who sat provocatively on the safe, he smirked. "Was there anything else that you required of me?"

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy the sport of it, darling. But if I took that manner of interest in you, I believe your girlfriend would turn violent." Maeve's glance toward Izzy was more playful than mean. "She seems like a woman who knows how to stake a claim."

Izzy nodded amiably in response, propping a hand on her hip. Hector was acutely aware that something had just been understood between them... and he was not invited.

Suddenly, Maeve shifted her skirt and adjusted her bodice, grabbing Hector's belt and pulling out the knife he kept concealed. It looked ridiculous and huge in her small hand. She looked between the two of them. "I thought I was crazy but I got shot...here." She pointed to her newly bared abdomen.

"There's no wound?" Izzy broke her vow of silence to inspect the area more closely.

There was a hint of panic in Maeve's eyes. She was desperate to be believed. "No, but I was shot. And that was standing over me and then it was as if it had never happened!"

Hector frowned at the extraordinary tale but had heard of these events during his time with the Ghost Nation tribe. They hadn't cared he was a half-breed, they were eager to teach him their culture and tell their tales. He was not in a position to judge what Maeve believed to be true. Izzy, on the other hand, looked completely off-put. The color had drained from her tan skin and she seemed dazed.

"I want you to cut me right there."

"I'm not in the habit of cutting into defenseless women." Although Hector really did feel an urge to stab someone at that moment.

Maeve tisked and looked to Izzy for backup. She had wandered over to the window. "Some big bad outlaw."

Hector sighed. "The Dreamwalker said there were some who could see them. That it is a blessing from the gods."

 _"A blessing?"_

"To see the masters who pull your strings," he explained, taking the knife from her. It felt warm and comforting in his hand.

"They don't know what they're talking about," Maeve retorted, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle.

"Do it, or don't, but we can't stay here much longer. The cavalry has arrived," Izzy commented, her gazed trained on the main street below. Hector noted the lack of rapid gunfire, he feared Armistice had been taken out.

"You don't have an opinion on this?" he asked. Izzy turned back to him, her expression aloof and sober.

"I think you should do it."

Maeve nodded her thanks.

Izzy's eyes settled on him in a way that was profoundly disturbing. "Unless you're afraid of what you might find."

He agreed instantaneously, and Izzy walked over to the safe to give Maeve a hand to hold.

Smoothing a gloved hand over her skin, Hector took a deep breath and with a calculated amount of force, pierced Maeve's stomach. She cried out in pain, clenching Izzy's hand. Before he lost the stomach for it, and her cries turned him off completely, Hector pushed his fingers into the cut, hoping the evidence she was looking for was close to the surface.

He didn't know if he was relieved or horrified when he felt a small metal object. She wasn't crazy after all, but what did that mean for her? For all of them? She had seen a Shade and lived to remember it. "What does it mean?"

"You find something?" Izzy asked with concern. He held the bloodied bullet fragment up for both women to see.

The sound of people running up the stairs cut their examination short. It only took moments for the footsteps to reach the door and pounding ensued. "Open up Escaton! We know you're in there!"

"I'm not crazy," Maeve whispered, her labored breathing the only sound between them. "And none of this matters."

 _"Open up Escaton or we'll fire!"_

Judging on the futility of their situation, he was inclined to agree with Maeve, and he did love a good shootout.

"Yes, it does."

As he unsheathed his rifle from the holster across his back, he heard her. Izzy frowned at him from her spot by Maeve.

"Maeve and I will be enough of a distraction, you can jump out the window and head down the back way. You don't have to go out like this," she continued, supporting Maeve who cringed, holding her stomach.

He stared at her, totally unwilling to acknowledge that he didn't want to follow her suggestion because he was being stubborn.

"Or stay here and get shot up like a dumbass, but you struck me as the kind of guy who would want to go out in a blaze of glory, not trapped like a dog."

And that was how Hector ended up jumping out the Mariposa saloon window.

* * *

Izzy waited until Hector had disappeared into the back barn to start screaming. "Don't shoot! Please!"

The gunfire ceased as the destroyed door creaked open. She returned to Maeve's side and adjusted her skirts.

"Where's Escaton? We know he was in here!" the deputy demanded, looking around the office with his gun still pointed. Two more men followed cautiously.

"He, he, took us hostage, he wanted the combination for the safe. When he heard you coming, he jumped out the window. Please, my friend..." Izzy continued pitifully. Maeve was fading fast.

Like good hosts at the end of their loop, the deputies apologized, promised to bring help, and set off to find an outlaw who was long gone.

"Maeve?"

"Hmm...? Are those fucking pricks gone?" she mumbled, slouched against Izzy's shoulder.

With a small laugh Izzy replied, "Yeah they're off to find Hector, but I'm sure he's long gone."

"You should go, no doubt he is waiting for his associate..." Maeve joked, wincing in pain.

"No, I'm sure he didn't wait for me. Besides I don't want to leave you," Izzy told her. She still held one of the madame's hands in her own.

"None of this matters, darling. You don't have to stay."

Izzy adjusted so Maeve could lay her head on her arm. "I don't have to stay, but I will. Nobody should have to go out alone."

She sat on the safe diligently, holding the host until QA finally came to collect.

* * *

Izzy was relieved that despite having been involved in three shootouts since arriving at the park, Maeve's death still weighed heavily on her. There seemed to be a pattern of behavior occurring; Hector wasn't the only host to be having doubts about their reality. She was glad she could be there for her, even if it ruined the rest of the afternoon.

Izzy ended up getting dressed in her evening-wear and drinking with Clementine, spilling god-knows-what secrets, until she finally retired to her room. She probably told that poor host about every celebrity crush she ever had since first grade. But she didn't seem to mind. The stupid guests couldn't tell human from host and were buying both of them drinks.

 _Wasn't she dangerously close to not differentiating human from host herself?_ Izzy sighed.

At least Len hadn't found her- she was able to get ready for bed in peace.

Izzy cringed at how many work calls and emails she probably had already. _She would have to call her mom too. Maybe she could get that done tonight, at least it would distract her._

There was a noise in the corner of the bedroom and she tore her eyes from her cellphone. Hector pushed himself off the wall casually.

"How long have you been in here?" Izzy demanded, feeling mildly violated. She was only wearing her nightgown.

"Long enough to have realized your boyfriend was not going to be making an appearance. Looks like we have the room to ourselves for quite a while," he purred.

She didn't like it. The edge in his voice was unkind and sharp, totally different than the voice he normally spoke to her with. It was as if he had snapped back into character mode, assuming the role of Westworld's big bad outlaw.

Instinctively, Izzy backed away from the vanity to put more space between the two of them. "How did you get in here?"

He removed his hat and placed it on the dresser, crossing his arms assuredly. "I do have _friends_ at this establishment. It was not hard to procure the key to your room."

She watched his eyes travel her body appreciatively. Her cheeks flamed with indignation— _mostly indignation_. "What are you doing here?" Izzy asked, crossing her own arms both for emphasis and to cover herself. Her patience was wearing thin.

"After I jumped out a window this afternoon in this very hotel without first considering the possible ramifications, I realized that I had many questions. And you are the common factor in all of them," Hector replied, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Last time, I was put off by a gross infatuation and your pretty words, but I won't be assuaged that easily this time."

He crossed the room with purposeful, long-legged strides, forcing Izzy to back up to the wall. He placed his arms on both sides of her body and she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. She kept her gaze locked on to his stony face, her heart pounding. Could she have attempted escape, _sure._ but she knew where this was coming from, and it wasn't anger; it was confusion and fear. Fear of something completely unknown. That's what made her attempt to reign in her tumultuous feelings and hear him out.

Searching his restless dark brown eyes, Izzy began with the only explanation that she thought could both appease him and, at the same time, open his mind for concepts that were much more complicated. She truly didn't want to lie to him, and that realization made tears sting the back of her eyes. _This whole world was a lie._

"Have you ever heard of the concept of déjà vécu?"

"No." Hector replied flatly.

"Like I told you, I can't explain everything to you right now, but everything that you're feeling, all the memories…it stems from the idea of déjà vécu, a French concept that means to have already lived through something…through a situation… to have experienced something in a previous life."

His brow furrowed. "You mean to tell me that I have done the same thing before? I have lived the exact same life as the same person?"

Izzy felt relief flood through her at his response. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. You remembered me because once in a while, people are able to recall memories from past lives. Perhaps you and I met before, and that's where the memory came from."

"How did I get your necklace then?" he asked. But the question wasn't meant to be interrogatory. The pained look he tried to conceal broke her heart and she wished she could explain everything to him straight out.

She raised her hand, hyper aware that his gaze was riveted on her, and gingerly touched his cheek. "I wish I knew that. But I don't. Hector I wish you would believe me when I say that I need time, and that I promise to tell you everything that I know."

He inhaled deeply and cocked his jaw slightly in agitation. She had not pacified him quite as well as she hoped. It was foolish to think she had.

"And you expect me to just believe that?" Hector goaded, closing what was left of the space between them. "Just take your words at face value, even as you admit you are hiding something?" One of his legs was firmly planted between her own, and her chest incidentally grazed the rough leather of his jacket. Izzy drew a sharp intake of breath as her heart began to race.

At that moment, she could feel the tension in the air as she gazed up at him, her head resting on the wall. There was no way he couldn't feel her pulse pounding as his smoldering eyes flicked between hers and her parted mouth. Regardless of the particulars, or how many coding "fail-safes" were in the way, they both were aware deep down that their lives were intertwined now. Neither knowing how much true awareness the other had of the situation.

With an artful lick of her lips as his face drew closer, Izzy breathed her answer to his earlier question. _"Yes."_

His mouth was hot and demanding, and hers opened willingly to his onslaught. She didn't allow herself to think as he tasted and stroked her with his tongue. Her senses were overwhelmed with a hot-blooded sensation—she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted a man so badly.

Her fingers found their way into his hair as he crushed her against him. He smelled like leather, a welcoming, warm smell that enveloped her, and Izzy found it easy to melt into him. His hands roved her waist and hips boldly, and Izzy tightened her grip reflexively. No she hadn't wanted a man this badly since...

 _He's not a man._ There it was, another bucket of cold water courtesy of the little voice in her head. Instinctively, Izzy shoved him backward, and Hector looked down at her, an expression between offense and confusion on his face. He stepped back.

They stared at each other and a beat passed.

"What if I told you 'It's not you, it's me'?" Izzy joked lamely. After the surge of purpose, the guilt was settling in. "And I meant it. I'm really weird."

Hector studied her, and she hoped her face conveyed her sincerity. "Another one of your secrets?"

Izzy's shoulders slumped as she gave a disheartened sigh. _She wouldn't believe her either._

Turning to the door, Hector made to leave.

"Where are you going?" Izzy asked, annoyed by how sad she sounded. She expected an argument, perhaps some sort of machismo bullshit to cut through, but he looked at her as if he had no idea what she was referring to.

Willing herself off of the wall, she walked back up to him with a consolation smile. "Do you have a better place to be?"

"Was it not you that suggested I meet more women?" Hector retorted, watching warily.

Izzy was relieved by the teasing edge in his voice. "Well yeah, but how many women will offer you half of a bed, a bottle of whiskey, and promise to not turn you in for a bounty?"

"That is an offer I would be remiss to give up."

* * *

 _"Hectorrr..." A pleasant voice sang. She always had a beautiful singing voice, even early in the morning. "Despierta..."_

 _He smiled, shutting his eyes and pulling her close as she buried her head in the crook of his neck. That tickled._

 _"_ _Despierta mi amor yo sigo aquí. Todo estaba tan bien no puedo entender, dame una razón. Doy la vuelta y me voy, aunque sin entender. Y piensalo bien te amo más que ayer, pero cuando intentes volver, escúchame muy bien...Quizás no estaré..."_

 _At the disconcerting song lyrics, Hector opened his eyes, hoping to understand what was wrong. Isabella was prone to bouts of melancholy, but this seemed to come from nowhere. She leaned over him, her beautiful black hair falling like a canopy around his head._

 _"¿Bella, que pasa?"_

 _She smiled down at him wistfully and stroked his face._

 _"¿Bella?" Hector questioned._

 _He blinked rapidly, only for her face to become blurred and lost to him. Like it always was._

"Hector?"

Izzy leaned over him, her bright blonde hair and blue eyes a stark contrast to what he had just been dreaming. She looked lovely, but concerned.

He smiled sleepily. She may not have given him all the answers last night, but their relationship had changed; as bizarre as it was, he believed she had good intentions.

Hector frowned as he was overcome with lethargy. He couldn't reach Izzy's face, he was too tired.

"Hector?" Izzy called to him. Her worried voice sounded bizarrely distant. Looking at the hand he had lifted, he realized it was covered in blood. _Where had this come from?_

 _"Hector!"_ Izzy yelled, her voice full of dread.

It was _his_ blood—pumping in earnest from his neck as he lay on the ground outside the Mariposa saloon midday. Izzy was holding him, applying futile pressure to a neck wound that was inescapably fatal. There were drowned out gurgles of gunshots, yelling, and laughter, but he was tired. Too tired to notice anything other than her, a vision in her green gown all soaked with blood.

 _"Hector? Hector stay with me. Can you hear me?"_ There she was again, holding his hand. He thought he squeezed it, but it had taken every ounce of focus he had left. She stroked his forehead, mumbling to him about staying awake, but it was too late.

His eyes drifted shut as he wandered into the oblivion, the words "END OF SERVICE" flashing hauntingly in his mind.

"Hector, oh my god. Please say something. Hector!"

And just like that, he was awake. Laying on his back in Izzy's room in the Mariposa. There was no blood, no screaming, just the pleasantly warm morning sun streaming through the windows.

That was how he knew her. Suddenly everything made sense in a weird fever-dream madness sort of way. "You were there. I died and you were there. That is how you knew I was going to rob the saloon, and that's how I got your necklace. That's how you knew where to find me."

Hector didn't know if he was relieved or terrified when Izzy stared at him without speaking. She looked as scared as he felt. But when she didn't immediately deny his theory, he realized that he was right.

Looking down at the sheets, she smoothed them flat, pursing her lips. A few times Hector thought she was going to say something, but she stayed silent. Only when he was afraid she was never going to acknowledge his outburst did she meet his eyes again.

"Do you believe in what you told Maeve?" Izzy whispered.

"Which part?"

"The people who walk between worlds."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: lucife56 gifted me the MOST AMAZING fan art of Hector and Izzy. This chapter is definitely dedicated to her!**

* * *

It was midday and Izzy was astonished that QA hadn't come to take Hector away yet. They were always listening, weren't they? That's what her mom believed. Maybe they had lucked out and no one had been livestreaming their conversation. Oh god, had someone watched the night before... _ahh_. She shuddered as the thought came to her in a flash. _Ewww_.

Well Izzy hoped they enjoyed the episode because it was never happening again. That was an epically stupid, albeit _satisfying_ , slip up of common sense and normal people boundaries. She was on her way to being one of those people who had sex with androids.

They had spent the first half of the day riding back through the Sweetwater hills to Hector's camp to see if anyone had returned. Izzy had expected there to be some tension, sure; she had not, however, expected the weirdness that had occurred.

The first half of the ride out of town was silent. A peculiar discord hung in the air between them. It was like they were handcuffed together; neither understanding the motivation, but still unwilling to separate themselves from the other. Hector navigated but said nothing. A muscle ticked in his jaw once in a while, revealing the color of his mood. Izzy wondered what he was thinking about— _if hosts actually had the capability of independent thought._

Once they reached the foot of the hill, it was as if a switch had been flipped. All of the tension and hostility was unleashed in a stream of calculated questioning. The about-face shocked her.

All of his words had an undercurrent of restraint and deliberation, and Izzy wondered if he really was half as calm as he came off. She was happy to answer all of his questions about her home, her life, and how she wound up in the area. They had been a long time coming.

Fortunately, with him forming the questions, she didn't have to worry about answering them. He would never be able to construct questions outside of his realm of comprehension, outside of Westworld.

 _Where did she come from?_ Southern California, a crowded city called Los Angeles. _Where had she learned Spanish?_ University, where she studied to be a lawyer. _What was she doing in the area?_ Her mom owned quite a bit of land here, and because she was sick, could not come see it. She wanted Izzy to see the area that held so many memories for her.

The Q&A session continued until they reached the familiar narrow pass, then Hector lapsed back into silence as he led them through the secret pathway to his camp. _Yeah, there was no way in hell Len and Craig would have ever found this. She couldn't imagine any guest did without a guide._

As they had expected, the camp was empty and there were no signs that anyone had been back to collect their belongings. They were all dead, she presumed. When Izzy tried to share condolences, Hector shrugged off the death of his gang members.

"You're sad about Armistice," she stated. She knew Hector was supposed to have a close bond with the other outlaw, even if not the others. Why he was so blasé about the whole thing was curious to her. _Was he just that cold and dismissive? Or was it that he was escorting a guest now and his programming overrode any emotions that might interfere with the experience?_

 _Questions to ask her mom when they finally connected._

"We will need to procure a third horse before we head out," Hector commented matter-of-factly as he rummaged around in one of the large tents. It was like she had never spoken, but his mood seemed lighter.

"Agreed, maybe even a fourth for the tent, but where exactly are we heading to?" Izzy replied. She sat by the cold fire pit. Having torn down one of the walled tents, she began folding the canvas and packing them into a bag.

Moments later, Hector emerged triumphantly from the remaining tent with a wanted poster in his hand. "Are you inclined to do some bounty hunting?"

"John Singleton Moseby, wanted for murder, robbery, treason, and crimes against the Union. $1000 reward, dead or alive," she read. There was the face of a bearded man included on the abused, seemingly ancient paper. "So, you're just mad that he has the same bounty as you? Please know I think you're worth much more than that."

He eyed her with pretend annoyance, but his lip twitched into a small smile at her joke. "Do you want an exciting vacation or not?"

"You want to go bounty hunting bandits? The irony is not lost on me."

Hector sighed and, as quickly as it had come, all semblance of joviality left him. "I heard rumors that the Confederados were travelling to Pariah. I intend to finish Moseby off. If I am so lucky, it will be piece by piece."

"The Confederados?" Izzy asked. She couldn't help posing the basic question but felt bad because it seemed to trivialize the larger issue Hector obviously had with this man.

"They call themselves the Army of New Virginia and are made up of a band of toothless backwoods crackers that refused to surrender after the war. They work mainly as mercenaries south of the border," Hector told her. There was bitterness radiating from him in waves. He took one last glance at the poster before refolding it and stashing it in his jacket.

Izzy stood up and walked over without thinking. She didn't really have to pry, it was obvious that they, and this man in particular, had wronged Hector in a major way. _Was this part of his loop? Didn't his narrative begin and end with the saloon heist, or was there a fail safe for this sort of situation?_ Much like his other "issue", Izzy wasn't going to question it; she wasn't Len.

After a long moment, Hector continued without being prompted. "I at least owe you an explanation, I suppose. If I am to suggest you to risk your life for my vendetta. I was born in a tiny border town called Quetzal. My mother was knocked up by a Union general who was passing through..."

Izzy was content to let him tell the tale, since it seemed like a rare opportunity to hear a more personal story from him, but Hector fell silent. He stared at the ground with a scowl. The story was cut short as he changed his mind. "When I was eighteen the Confederados rode into Quetzal and burned it to the ground. They killed over half the village, including the two people I cared most about in the world."

At that moment, a wave of awareness came over Izzy, and she grasped for the first time the seductive nature of Westworld. The dangerous, all-consuming, allure. _None of this was real._ The harsh reality smacked her upside the head. _Wasn't this exactly what the park advertised? They follow your every movement, they tailor a narrative to your wants and desires, they create a feeling of urgency...they bewitch you into believing it's real, believing that you are being let in on a deeper level. She was smarter than this! God, and she was such a dick to Len._

Fighting back an unwelcomed tightening in her throat, she finally replied. "And that man is the head of the Confederados? That's why we have to kill him."

Hector's eyes lit up at her implied agreement. _"Yes."_

She smiled up at him unconvincingly, completely deflated. "Then let's get going. We have a horse to buy and a mercenary to catch."

He gave a decisive nod and turned to enter the tent, but before he disappeared under the doorway, he looked at her pointedly. It was this sort of expression, that of frank sobriety, that Izzy was weakest against. It had the complex intensity Izzy would have sworn was only available to humanity.

 _"And yes,_ I am sad about Armistice. But she knew death was a likely outcome in our line of work. I just wish she could have exacted all of the revenge she sought before her time was done."

Izzy felt her lips turn upward in a reluctant smile at the confession. It would still be hard to keep her worlds separate. But she had to try, for her own sanity.

* * *

Hyper aware of the sound of his dress shoes on the ceramic tile of the restaurant's outdoor patio, Len squared his shoulders and prepared for combat.

"Leonard...you're here alone."

Dale Price looked up from his glass of wine to lock eyes with his son. Anyone looking at the table would be astonished by the resemblance between the two red-haired men, but Len knew his father only saw the differences—perceived weaknesses. None of his academic work, his business success, or his personal accomplishments would ever be good enough for Dale Price. He didn't possess the same cut-throat cruelty, and Len was proud of it.

Finally, he swallowed and forced himself to not avert his eyes as he closed the gap and sat down at the dinner table. Len hated the power his father imposed over people—everything was a battle of wills.

"I'm as surprised as you are, but Izzy has really been taken by the park. She left Fuego Amaroso and headed back to Sweetwater for the saloon heist. I haven't checked on her since," he commented, his tone measured. _Calm and casual._

"She sought out the saloon heist? Didn't you tell me that she had quite the ethical issue with the last one?"

Len eyed him. He didn't have to "tell him" anything. They both knew that Dale Price was aware of everything in the park that he cared to be. "You needed me to tell you? I know that you are watching our every move. Apparently, her aversion to gore lost out to her affinity for ill-fated desperados."

"Affinity indeed. She fed you quite the line about her distaste for the hosts and their more _carnal_ uses. She shakes you for 24 hours..."

He was just saying this to hurt his feelings, to irk him, Len knew that. His father loved controlling people and exploiting their weaknesses. Len swallowed and strengthened his resolve. "Well that's good. I fucked quite a few cowgirls. And since keeping her distance from the park and hosts wasn't helping our cause, maybe her getting more involved with the park narratives will."

Dale took another drink and stared off the balcony into the quaint Spanish-style village below. "Let's hope so. Charlotte Hale is going to be here in a few days to tie up a few loose ends and make an appearance at the gala; she wants it unanimous and we are still unsure of how William is going to vote. He has an allegiance to Ford that I'll never understand."

"I tried to bring it up, but Izzy is pretty adamant about not changing her mom's vote," Len commented. A host waiter came to the table and refreshed their drinks.

"That's because a host has buffered every bad experience she has had in the park. The bandit, by some fluke, glitched enough to administer her epi-pen— _good going on that, by the way Len, way to be there._ And then again when those two hosts attacked her. Every bad host experience has been balanced by a good one," his father explained, although it seemed like he was talking to himself.

Len narrowed his eyes at his father's nefarious train of thought. "...Which was good because she could have been seriously hurt."

"Charlotte is right, the board seems to be ready to oust Ford, but if Izzy votes nay as the last of her mother's era of board members, there will be second thoughts. If William votes nay as the majority shareholder as well, there will be dissention. The vote could become closer than necessary."

"I think you're exaggerating. These board members have known about Susan's feelings for years; they knew she would always support Ford. That doesn't matter to them," Len retorted. A bad feeling was forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Son, it bothers me that I have to explain how important this is. There are hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. If we have the ability to solve a problem before it begins, then it is our job to do so."

"Meaning what? I can try to talk to her again, but I think that she will just get more annoyed if I badger her," Len replied matter-of-factly. He knew Izzy too well to think he could talk her into anything she was dead set against.

Dale gave his son a patient, condescending smile. "You are absolutely right, Len. We have to let experience speak for itself. And I am sure sooner rather than later, there will be an unfortunate glitch that even robot Antonio Banderas can't fix."

* * *

"Are you upset with me?" Hector asked innocently as he hammered the tent stake into the ground.

Izzy glared at him, arranging the canvas for the next corner stake. "What do _you_ think?"

"I think you are grateful that I found us a horse and saved you money." Hector chuckled to himself and moved to the next stake. Izzy moved around the tent and began her process of pulling and arranging over again.

"You shot that man! I was going to purchase this horse from him!" she exclaimed. _He was as bad as Len!_

"You were planning to over-pay a shifty crook, and he was going to sell you a gelding with a bum leg without batting an eye. Now he is unable to con anyone, we have a pack horse, pack horse is lucky because he does not have a bullet in his brain and has instead been showered with love and affection, he has been named Broma, _and_ we still have $400, it was a victory for everyone involved," Hector commented, obviously pleased with himself.

"You named _my_ lame horse 'Broma'...as in 'joke'?!"

 _"Your_ horse?"

"I was going to buy that horse fair and square."

"I _stole_ that horse, so he's mine. You will have to be quicker on the draw next time if you would like to start naming the horses," Hector grinned, trying, but failing, to come off businesslike.

Izzy sighed, but couldn't keep herself from smiling.

It was dusk by the time they had the horses put away and the campsite set up. According to Hector's estimates, they would reach Pariah by noon the next day if they took the main road, but the Confederados never did. He would have to study their map to make sure they took the right path and ran into the gang far enough outside of the town that the Union garrison wouldn't be alerted. _He was a wanted man, after all_.

There was enough to do, starting and tending the fire, attempting to cook (read: they were both terrible at cooking), setting out their things, and taking turns watching for the first few hours to make sure they had not drawn any unwanted visitors, that Izzy hadn't had to worry about cohabitating with Hector until it was late. Once they were both in the tent it was harder.

It wasn't that they were physically lacking for space in the walled tent, on the contrary. It had enough space for their bed rolls, their belongings, the saddles, and sitting space, although with only two lanterns it had a deceptively cozy vibe. They had created space for themselves on opposite sides.

Izzy washed up as well as she could, scrubbing the dirt and sweat from her face and neck. She stole glances at Hector, intrigued by the sight. He looked...out of character. He sat cross-legged on his bed mat without his customary jacket, hat, or boots. His dress shirt was partially unbuttoned, and he used the flickering lantern light to read from a small, thick book.

She hadn't pegged him for a reader, and before she could remind herself to honor their silence pact, she heard herself ask. "What are you reading?"

He looked up immediately with a curious expression. "Don Quixote, ¿lo leíste?"

It was hard to focus on anything when he looked at her that way. When his face was soft and unassuming, his eyes were round and gentle and he looked much younger—perhaps closer to his real age. "Yeah, a couple times, I studied it in a literature class. May I see it?"

Hector closed the book and handed it to her. Izzy felt the worn edges and opened the front cover. There was a note in pencil.

 _Hector,_

 _el amor mana eternamente._

 _Isabella M_

"That's my name," Izzy commented, running her fingertips over the tight, even cursive. It was nothing like her half-squiggled scrawl, it reminded her of her mom's beautiful handwriting.

"I had not considered what 'Izzy' is short for," he replied before turning inward. He murmured the next words, _"Isabella Menendez."_

Suddenly it all became clear as she handed the book back. "Isabella was killed by the Confederados?"

Hector closed his eyes briefly and took a breath. "They set fire to everything. She was killed trying to retrieve her younger brother from their burning house. "

A pang of sadness proved to her that she would never be able to detach emotionally from the hosts, especially not this one. Slightly more unnerving was the illogical jealousy she was feeling toward a person that did not exist. _God this was screwed up_. "And she is why you want to find Moseby? To avenge her death?"

"My mother was shot. I do it more for her memory than I do it for Isabella."

Izzy was silent, not wanting to say the wrong thing and discourage his rather personal outburst. Hector seemed to misjudge her lack of response as scrutiny. He stared down at the book, and if she didn't think it was impossible, she would have sworn he looked sheepish.

"I do not... I have not spent twenty years pining for her, living chaste as my soul withers into some kind of poetic dust heap. Do not think that I still hold some childish hopeless devotion to her."

"Everyone mourns differently, I would not judge you either way. I'm sure she was wonderful, and had great taste in literature," Izzy assured him. She was not going to dwell on what he had just said, or why he said it.

Hector smirked enigmatically. "I think that at this point my rage lies in more of a selfish vein. We were children, we knew little of love. Could I have loved her? Yes. But that was taken from me... that possibility for normalcy."

"Of course," she agreed. "Who knows how your life could have been. You were robbed of that, anyone would be permanently affected by this sort of traumatic event."

"My mother ran a small agave plantation. Isabella and I used to sit and eat the agave plants. I spent summers in New York with my father until I realized that she needed my help tending the fields."

"Did you miss spending the summer with your father?"

Hector frowned, but his eyes were still far away. "I never saw him. I was a black mark on an otherwise spotless reputation. He had me tutored in English, arithmetic, literature, fencing, dancing, shooting...like I was his legitimate son."

"But?" Izzy encouraged.

"By the time I was ten, I realized what was actually occurring. I was being converted by my good Christian father, who wanted to lead his half-breed son out of the pagan darkness like I was some sort of fucking savage. I was a dancing bear to all of them."

She resisted an urge to touch his arm. _Fucking colonization_. She imagined a child version of Hector and her brows knitted together at the sad thought. "I'm sorry. People are so fucking shitty to other people. Now you see why I became a lawyer."

Hector cracked a smile, obviously trying to smooth over the conversation. "Now you see why I prefer to shoot people."

"I certainly see why we need to find General Moseby."

" _Lo siento, señorita abogada_ , but you know we will not be turning him in to the sheriff," he warned teasingly.

"I know. Things are different here. He should face justice, and if you are the only one who can bring that to him, then there is nothing else that can be done," Izzy conceded with a wistful smile. "Did you figure out our path?"

Hector handed her the folded map. "Yes, I am certain they will take the north trail, here."

Izzy's heart began to race as he leaned close and pointed out the route on the old, faded map. Even during their earlier heartfelt conversation, they had been sitting a foot apart. This was the closest they had gotten all day. She peeked up at him, a foolhardy part of her reveling in their proximity. He caught her gaze, his devilish eyes flicking down to her lips.

"What's this?" Izzy asked a little too loudly, pointing to a drawing in the corner of the map. It looked like a stick figure inside of a horseshoe maze.

Hector smirked, reluctantly tearing his eyes away and focusing on the paper. He studied the image for a moment. "It does not look like anything to me. Does it have some meaning to you?"

She fought back disappointment—she recognized that answer. Everything that had just happened between them: the personal story, the jokes, the flirting, they were all just a script. She might as well have been talking into a mirror.

"I don't know," Izzy finally responded with a yawn. "It was just an odd design. It looked very deliberate."

Hector regarded it again. "The map was not mine originally. It could be anyone's drawing."

It wasn't long after that she attempted to get some rest. Hector went back to reading. The air in the tent felt lighter and warmer after their conversation, and Izzy knew she would be able to sleep better with that weight off of her shoulders. Earlier she thought that their...relationship had been damaged by everything that had passed between them. She was glad that was not the case.

* * *

Hector hadn't wanted to alarm Izzy, but he still had a lingering fear that their location had been discovered. There had been no activity, and the horses rested peacefully outside, but that didn't keep him from sitting up a few extra hours to make sure. Unfortunately, his novel couldn't keep his attention for more than a few pages at a time. His eyes kept drifting to the woman sleeping on the other side of the tent.

It riveted him how innocent and pretty she appeared. Her full lips were slightly parted and her hands were tucked under her head. _Like a china doll._ He didn't quite know what to make of their situation, of their seemingly connected past and present, but looking at her now, her long golden hair shining in the lantern light, she certainly could pass for something preternatural.

Hector had never seen a Shade himself before, but he believed her. In this world of chaos, this made as much sense as anything else. He remembered her expression in the hotel room when he had explained the Dreamwalker lore to Maeve. It was that of a playwright in the face of someone reciting their new plot line for line. Izzy had been there when he died once before, in a past life. And she had known him when they met the second time.

At that moment, Izzy scowled and mumbled something. Hector smiled- _there it was, even in her sleep she was fighting for something._

She was much more beautiful that way. When her jaw clenched and her icy blue eyes glittered with fevered intensity. When she was taking or defending a stand.

Just like that, her face smoothed back over, and with a deep sigh, she lapsed back into calmness.

Hector closed his book. There was no use in trying to read tonight.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: as always, thank you guys for your kudos and comments! I love hearing what you want to see :) And Charlotte will be making an appearance in a few chapters.**

* * *

It had been confirmed by a small trading outpost that the band of Confederados had taken up temporary residence at a solitary homestead in the valley. According to the shopkeeper, they had been conducting a business deal with El Lazo's men before meeting up with the rest of the gang in Pariah- and terrorizing the family that lived there. It had taken no time at all for Hector and Izzy to locate the quaint farm.

To the untrained eye, it was the most picturesque little ranch; lush green pasture with colorful cows grazing peacefully, a windmill creaking, and a small patch of tomatoes alongside the cabin. Two draft horses napped in a paddock. Only the sheer number of saddled horses by the hitching post gave away how many people were within. Located between two steep hills, it was in an ideal spot for someone trying to scope it out. They had set up their temporary camp on the far side of one of the hills, perfectly invisible to the derelict hicks inside.

Hector estimated there were eight to ten of them including John Singleton Moseby, and probably an equal number of El Lazo's men. The two sides would be easy to tell apart. They could create a distraction to spook the horses- that would draw one out, and a second would back him up. He would have a clear shot; even at 300 yards he was confident he would be able to fire kill shots.

Once they had picked off a few, they could move to one of the outbuildings closer to the house for cover. Being down on numbers, the gang wouldn't leave the house to return fire. It would be a slower process at that point, but once they cleared all of the Confederados, they could simply leave. There was no reason to attack the other group or jeopardize the family inside.

What had he said? Oh yeah: _"And you can try to hit one too, if you are so inclined."_

So, Izzy got to help as they took on the small group, as long as she _"Didn't accidentally shoot him"_. Stupid cheeky infuriating android.

But all jokes aside, judging by Hector's rapt absorption, there was no chance this plan was going to go wrong.

Well there was _almost_ no way this could go wrong. Until Len showed up with a white hat host in tow, looking to collect a bounty. They had no choice but to team up, Len impressed it upon Izzy that if they weren't abundantly clear about their unity, the bounty hunter, Holden, and Hector would shoot each other, as they probably had in previous narrative loops.

Within minutes the two of them had already disagreed about how many Confederados there were and how best to proceed.

Hector won through sheer force of will.

* * *

As they waited until dusk to launch their ambush, Izzy made Len take a walk with her. She hoped Holden and Hector could play nice without supervision and was pleased to see that they had distanced themselves.

"What are you doing here, Len?" Izzy questioned as they headed out of camp and toward the prairie. She tried to not sound annoyed, but she was. All anyone talked about was the massive scale of the park and the numerous storylines... and he was going to tell her that they _accidentally_ ran into each other in the middle of nowhere?

"Same as you! Only we are hunting Slim Miller, apparently, he is here doing business with your man before the rest of the Confederados meet them in Pariah. I'm trying to get to the War narrative and have to pick him up to exchange him for information from El Lazo," he replied, his eyes pleading.

 _Was it possible that it really was a coincidence?_

Len chuckled inwardly and looked over to the small camp down the hill. He spotted Hector. "You know, it's funny. Izzy, you can see through anyone's bullshit. You pick people apart systematically for a living, God help any man who tries to chat you up at a bar...and an _android_ conned you."

"You're going to have to elaborate," she responded carefully, crossing her arms.

"I have seen the saloon heist easily 20 times since I started coming to the park. I'll admit I don't know a lot about Hector's backstory, but I have friends that ride with his saloon heist narrative a lot. His cornerstone, his _literal_ reason for existing, as it were, is Isabella. I mean the fact that he likes you so much has to be a testament to your name. He's a loner by programming; I mean _loner_ loner. Do you remember Christie? She tried to hook up with him two loops in a row, he totally shut her down both times. I'd bet less than 5% of his guest interactions are sexual. My point, Iz, is that he made you think he was emotionally available so that you would help him on his quest, _which was definitely about getting revenge for Isabella."_

"Len do me a favor and never use the term 'sexual' ever again." Izzy snapped, feeling her stomach turn sour, like it did before a good cry. She felt so stupid for not reading more into Hector's words. She herself had noted he was clever and cold, why did she just take his words as truth? And she felt stupid for that too. How could she not have seen it? _She hadn't wanted to._

"I'll be back. Then we can move on the house and collect Moseby and Slim Miller," Izzy mumbled, averting her gaze in case she did something horrible like shed a tear.

Whether she cared to admit it or not, Len knew quite a bit about the inner workings of the park and had a fascination with the narratives. He would know much more than her regarding what the hosts were and were not capable of, at least in terms of how they interacted within the storyline.

He had played all over the park and had experienced everything it had to offer. That meant that if Len knew Hector was a certain way, it wasn't that he suddenly changed after all this time. It meant that Hector simply adapted to his current scenario in order to still achieve his ultimate goal.

Izzy felt super stupid, but more so, she was pissed off.

* * *

Hector hadn't noticed the agitated blonde until it was too late, he had been busy examining the log cabin, watching for activity, and studying and surrounding topography to figure out any possible escape routes. Moseby was in there with his gang, so fucking close. He was so close to finally realizing his goal.

"How dare you."

He tore his eyes away from the house with reluctance. Izzy looked absolutely livid. At that moment, Hector took back everything he thought of the night before: she was _not_ prettier when the entirety of her wrath was turned at him.

"Elaborate," Hector instructed apathetically, crossing his arms.

"Fuck you. _How dare you_. You played me. You told me this poignant tale to rope me into helping you, you flirted with me and pretended like we were in this together, but you just needed another person to help you live out your revenge fantasy," Izzy accused. Walking the rest of the way up the hill, she stood toe to toe and pointed a finger at him.

If Hector didn't know better, he would think she was going to explode, and a twinge of guilt hit deep in his brain. _She was right._ He stared at her with a level gaze, ready to defend his actions, but nothing came to mind.

 _How had she figured it out?_ _Len_. Hector decided. _He really did not like that man. He was too quick to meddle in the affairs of others, and had no backbone to speak of._

"You know what, I should have trusted myself. I knew you were cold, aloof, and self-serving. But I thought maybe you weren't that way with everyone, with people you...cared about. _Well fuck me_. OH WAIT, you did that already! And I'm _not_ giving you your gun back and you're _lucky_ I don't shoot you with it!"

What had started off as a pointed attack on his person had quickly morphed into a stream of anger. Hector cast his eyes downward, he wanted to say something, _anything_. But every word died on his lips- it was true. He had no real recourse.

She stared up at him and he reluctantly caught her eyes. After a painfully long time, he began: "I-"

But it was too late, Izzy was back down the hill, brushing by Len. Hector observed them from afar. It was easy to tell that she didn't care for the man. He smirked. Her body language screamed it, even from this distance.

He turned back to the homestead, allowing himself to be immersed in the task looming. _Finally, he would get his revenge._

* * *

Finding a secluded place by the campsite, Izzy did what everyone did when they were upset and overwhelmed: she called her mom. They had time to kill and she was supposed to call her back after that telegram. They had chatted about nothing in particular, mostly how her mom was feeling and what she did that day, before turning to the narrative Izzy was following.

The two made sure to say nothing incriminating as Izzy explained her first few days and how she had gotten there—barring some unnecessary details. Her mom was shocked by her eventful mix of good and bad luck. Len had failed to mention how unheard of it was for anyone to have one near-death experience at Westworld, let alone two in a few days.

Izzy didn't want to delve too deeply, however, her mom had enough things to worry about in the real world. She didn't need to think that robot cowboys were after her daughter. She quickly turned the conversation to their current quest.

"Wow! Well it seems like you got to unlock one of those special narratives!" Susan exclaimed. "Most people are so busy with the shooting and screwing that they don't even know that they exist. I'll bet you very few people have gone on this bounty hunt with Hector, I knew you would get the most out of the park, Iz."

Susan Moore hadn't been an active designer any longer when the Saloon Heist narrative was being implemented, but she remembered the planning stages. Izzy didn't know if she was sad that her mom didn't know what Hector looked like, or if she was happy to have this secret to herself.

"By _'get the most out of'_ you mean be conned by a vengeful homicidal maniac host?" Izzy retorted with a chuckle.

"Oh Izzy. I know you're upset with him, and I understand. You must feel very betrayed, since he was the one you felt...connected to," her mom maneuvered carefully. After Izzy had explained the recent adventure she had been on, her mom guessed immediately that Hector was the one Izzy referred to in her previous call. "But don't judge him too harshly."

"Well I already flipped my shit on him," she explained. _No regrets._

Her mom sighed heavily. "Izzy, the hosts...they aren't like us. I will take full responsibility for this. I planted the seed in your brain that there was more to the hosts than the park let on. I was hoping it would get you to return to the park a few more times; you would be able to establish a baseline of narrative host behavior. Your outlaw, I don't know him personally, but I know that he can't help what he did. He was hardwired with this backstory and this train of thought, he couldn't change it if he wanted to. It's not personal, sweetie. He cannot deviate from the core narrative the designers gave him, not even for someone as kickass as you."

"Well now I feel like an asshole for yelling at him," Izzy mumbled. She hadn't realized how much of her interest had been based on the idea that the hosts had the capacity to think independently from their scripts. But her mom was right to reiterate: anything the hosts had been able to do at one point was completely corrected by now.

"I think you should go apologize, you'll feel better. And go help him catch the bad guy."

* * *

It wasn't long after Izzy's outburst that the plan Hector (and the white hat, but _mostly_ him) had constructed was thrown for a loop. As the sun set, guards had been posted outside the cabin, one from El Lazo's gang and one Confederado. No doubt neither side trusted the other enough to stake their man alone.

As their shit luck would have it, Holden identified their man, Miller, as one of the night's watch. That meant that they could not shoot their way through without jeopardizing Len and Holden's bounty hunt. They were adamant about capturing him alive.

Hector had considered just killing Miller anyway; he didn't give a fuck if the bounty hunters were mad at him. _Hell,_ he would shoot them too if they managed to fuck this up for him. The only thing that kept him playing nice was the fact that he didn't think Izzy made idle threats. If he killed Len, she would murder him with his own gun.

 _How poetic._

"Why don't I just head down there and act as a distraction? I could lure Miller out somewhere and then you guys could help wrangle him. Then we can just pick up the original plan," Izzy suggested as they stood around the fire.

Hector was relieved that both the other men were against it as well.

"Izzy, don't worry about it, we'll think of a new plan. You could get hurt," Len promised, smiling warmly at her. Hector refrained from glaring at the younger man; it was painfully obvious that the Boy Scout thought he was charming. He took an unnerving amount of solace in the fact that Izzy seemed unaffected by his All-American allure.

"You don't have to do that, darlin', we wouldn't wanna be putting you in harm's way unnecessarily like that," Holden responded kindly.

Hector was going to affirm what the other men said, but Izzy stared him down, one eyebrow raised challengingly. He knew a set up when he saw one, and anything he said would be thrown back in his face.

 _"Oh, so now you care if I get hurt or not?"_

 _Or_

 _"Well of course you don't mind if I put myself in mortal danger for your quest."_

Cringing internally, he acknowledged the validity of both points. Yeah, Hector was going to refrain from commenting.

Izzy turned her attention back to Len and Holden, she must have realized he had been sufficiently cowed.

"Come on, I won't be in any danger. You will be nearby to take a shot if it comes to that, but I don't think that it will. Len, you said so yourself, El Lazo isn't a marauding heathen, they have families, morals they abide by. Worst case, I'm gonna have to make out with a guy who looks like a skinny scarecrow. We'll have our man and can move forward. But the reality is, we don't know how long we will have this opportunity. We don't really have time to start from scratch and make a new plan," she reasoned judiciously.

A small smirk played across Hector's face as he watched her make her case. She used such pointed hand gestures and posturing, he wondered if she just naturally treated this sort of situation like a court room.

He was not surprised it worked. Len and Holden, after only a few more half-hearted protests, were on board as long as Len could accompany her.

* * *

It had passed through Izzy's mind that this could not work, but for the sake of gathering the courage to sashay down the steep hill toward the unknown hosts, she couldn't think about it.

Len lurked in the nearby trees, having the advantage of darkness, while the two men were illuminated by the hanging lantern in front of the house. Holden and Hector also assured her that they would be watching and get a lock on them as soon as they could from the distance.

"You lost, miss?" the gruff Confederado asked, eyeing her up and down as soon as she stepped into the light.

Izzy made sure to let her eyes linger on Miller a second longer than necessary. He turned his gaze downward under the scrutiny but looked back up at her eagerly. Too eagerly.

She fought to keep herself from frowning overtly. Without a second thought, she widened her eyes and hoped to come off frantic. "My friend is badly injured; do you think you would be able to help him? I think his leg is broken."

The two hosts exchanged glances.

"I could take a look..." The Confederado offered. He stroked his beard and looked back at the house.

"Oh, no worries man, I can help our pretty lady. Just let me grab another man for the guard," Miller spoke up, smiling at Izzy. "We will do what we can for your friend."

It was as easy as that. As soon as a second man from El Lazo's gang came out, Slim Miller took the lantern and followed her out in the direction of the workshop.

"Slim, you don't mind if I call you that, right?" Izzy purred.

He stuttered and she felt a pang of guilt. He seemed like a genuinely nice host. "That's quite alright, miss."

"Slim, I really appreciate what you're doing for us," she glanced down coyly before backing him into the outbuilding wall. The lantern light would be out of sight. Miller chucked nervously.

Giving him a demure smile, Izzy leaned in and kissed him gently. "I just wanted to thank you personally."

He breathed shakily, obviously ruffled and blushed but didn't have time to respond. Len struck him with the end of his pistol and the host crumpled.

Extinguishing the light, they gagged him and hoisted him jointly, carrying him deeper into the woods where they could leave him tied until the chaos had settled.

"See how easy that was? Now we just have to free the horses and our plan is under way!" Izzy told him, proud that it went off as easily as it had.

"I agree, and I'm glad you talked us into it," Len admitted. "I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't pressed it. But I think I should just free the horses myself. Just wait here with Miller until Holden comes and then go back up the hill with him."

She frowned. "Why? It will be much faster and safer if you have someone to cover you."

Len smiled wistfully. "You've had a few injuries, Iz. I can't imagine your epi-pen bruise has even healed yet. I don't want another fluke to get you hurt again, you seem to have shit luck here."

She didn't need to be babied, she knew her limits and the fine print of the contract she signed before coming to the park. "I know, Len. But you can't just bench me."

"Izzy, I have to insist. The horses are a little unpredictable, you could accidentally be stepped on..."

He seemed to realize how dumb he sounded, explaining horse behavior to the lifelong equestrian, and trailed off. "Stay here."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and fled back toward the homestead.

"What the fuck," Izzy mumbled. Since when did Len get to make decisions for her? He wasn't her father, and he wasn't paying for her vacation. Her money, her narrative.

* * *

Getting to the horses was easy, albeit a long walk around the ranch to stay out of sight of the guards. If their defenses were raised at all, it was in the other direction, toward the outbuilding where Slim had disappeared. Izzy knew they had only a limited amount of time before someone went to go find their missing man and alerted the rest of the gang.

Len untied them one by one from the hitching posts, and Izzy started on the other side. Once they were loose they would spook the entire herd. He did not comment on her appearance but gave her a suffering look. No doubt he would try to lecture her later. _Ha_.

They had more pressing matters now, and with a few good cracks of the lead ropes, the horses began to snort and stamp, a few taking off at a gallop. That was the cue.

Two gunshots rang out simultaneously, and the guards outside the cabin both dropped. Izzy couldn't suppress a chuckle. What better way for Hector and Holden to express their rivalry than shooting others for the sake of the team.

"Why can't you just follow instructions?" Len snapped, pulling her out of her amusement.

"Who gave you the right to give me instructions?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "That's not the point."

"Then what is your point? Dammit Len you're not my dad. Stop trying to micromanage me! And don't pretend like you finding me here was an accident because we both know that's bullshit!"

Len didn't have time to respond, gunshots rang out from the window of the cabin along with a chorus of shouts. The men were not going to come out to check on the horses, because they could _hear_ that the cause had been 100% human. _Fuck._

They took off running toward the barn for cover.

* * *

Hector struggled to follow the two outlines as they ran toward the barn. Even with the bright moon, the homestead was shadowy and dark. Something had tipped the gang members off and alerted them to Len and Izzy's presence. They wouldn't just be firing blindly into the darkness after the gunshots, they had to have spotted their target. An oddly queasy feeling settled in his stomach.

"We need to get down there so we can establish clear shots and back them up," Holden commented, holstering his gun.

Hector was reluctant to agree with the lawman but saw the value. He nodded. They could get into the farthest outbuilding, break the window and fire shots from there.

As they stalked down the hill, Hector was relieved to see Izzy and Len reappear by the barn—they had found cover. His moment of consolation was abruptly ended, however, when the barn door swung open in front of them.

The illuminated interior only outlined the man's shadow as he stood in the doorway, but Hector knew who it was, he could recognize that hulking mass anywhere. Moseby.

"What the hell?" Holden muttered as they reached the workshop. He broke the lock on the door, but stopped when he noticed the other man's distraction. They watched the scene unfold.

Hector didn't notice that he was holding his breath until Moseby drew his pistol. He was so fast, just like he remembered him all those years ago. Len hardly had time to grab for his gun before the general shot them.

Both forms crumpled to the ground.

 _"Well I'll be goddamned."_

Holden's exclamations were meaningless. Everything was meaningless _. He had lost another person to Moseby._

Hector stood frozen. _He had gotten her killed._ That was his only thought and it throbbed in the back of his skull. _He had gotten her killed. He had chosen his own revenge over her safety and she paid the price._

"What are you doing?!" the other man whispered vehemently.

Holden never even saw Hector's gaze darken murderously or that he drew his knife. One merciless stab to the gut and the lawman fell to the ground, gurgling briefly before dying.

Turning his sights on Moseby, Hector knew he was close enough. He unsheathed his rifle from across his back and lined up the shot, pulling the trigger with gritted teeth.

Moseby stumbled backward into the barn but stayed on his feet. He looked out into the darkness as if to see where his assailant was. To mock him.

Hector's hands trembled violently and he stifled a frustrated scream- _he had missed._


	16. Chapter 16

It was funny how something that seemed daunting hours ago now seemed like child's play. Hector supposed it was the difference between having something to lose—no matter how fleetingly you had it— and having nothing.

People with nothing were far more dangerous.

He took cover in the workshop, breaking the small window that faced toward the center of the farm and shooting the newly replaced guards by the cabin. Now, Hector just had to wait. Between the four of them, they had removed five of the gang members and shot the leader of the Confederados; neither gang could ignore the skirmish, especially since they didn't know how many attackers there were. If he didn't give away his position, they would have to look for him. Hector could kill them all.

 _He would kill them all._

Steeling himself, Hector cast his gaze back down the sloping hill to the barn. _The bodies were gone!_ _How? Where had they been put?_ A renewed rage coursed through him at the thought of Izzy's body being thrown aside like trash. Suddenly there was a feminine scream from inside the building. It had never occurred to Hector that she might have survived the shot only to suffer a worse fate at the hands of a sadistic psycho. He had to get in there.

Footsteps quietly approached the workshop, and he spotted a singular Confederado. Without needing confirmation, Hector knew the man was aware of his presence.

"Escaton, I know you're in here." The door opened slowly, revealing a middle-aged, stocky gringo that made Hector question the Confederados' hiring standards. He breathed harshly from the short trek up the hill and his forehead shone with perspiration.

Hector pressed himself against the wall. He reached for his pistol before remembering that he had given it to Izzy. With an internal grimace, he knew that he couldn't unsheathe his rifle silently. He would have to wait for the opportune moment.

"I am going to cut off a piece of you and bring it back home in my carry-on," the man mocked. His eyes searched the dark workspace, and he carried his revolver down at his side lackadaisically—unaware that Hector stood just feet from him."I'll mount it on the hood of my car for all my friends to see."

As silently as he could, Hector wiggled one of the bullets free from his belt, breathing a sigh of relief when it popped free. He tossed it across the room and it bounced off of the opposite wall.

The Confederado's eyes darted to the sound and Hector used the distraction to lunge at him. They landed on the ground with a thud and Hector slammed his fist into the man's face.

"Mother fucker!" the man shouted, clawing frantically at Hector's arms and face. All semblance of tough gunslinger had vanished. "You can't hurt me! You can't..."

Hector tossed the man's pistol away. "Oh, can I not?" He pressed a hand against his throat and reveled in watching him squirm. "If you want I could cut a piece of you off and let you fish for it in the Olvido."

"No no no no..."

Hector stared down at the hapless Confederado underneath him. He wanted to kill him, wanted to torture him, inflict some kind of enduring pain on him.

Sighing, it was like a switch had flipped in his mind. He decided against it.

A flicker of hope glittered in the man's eyes. Hector smashed his head into the floor. _Compromise._

 _He had a general to find._

* * *

"Izzy!" Len grabbed her arm and helped her up in a rush. They scooted around to the back of the barn.

"Ow, fuck. Len let me go!" Izzy held her head. She had been shot right in the forehead and it stung horribly. The pain radiated from her temples to her eyes.

"Shit did you get hit in the head? I remember the first time I got shot, it hurts a lot more than you'd expect," he explained, eyeing her with concern.

"No, no, I'm fine. I think I was just shocked. You need to go find Holden and Hector, back them up so we can get this done. Didn't you hear the screams from the barn? There's a woman in there, Len."

She was happy that he didn't argue. Based on the amount of gunshots and shouting, the two could use the back up. Drawing her gun, Izzy pushed the loose strands of hair from her face and crept back around to the barn door.

It had been closed again, but not locked, and there were rustling sounds coming from inside.

"Holy…" Izzy trailed off. Looking down, she realized she was stepping in a small pool of blood, a trail of it led into the barn. A middle-aged woman sat on a haybale, pulling her woolen shawl tighter around her as she shook.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The woman tucked a strand of disheveled hair behind her ear with a trembling hand and her voice hitched. "No, no…he was distracted."

Izzy held her arms, rubbing them comfortingly. "Was he shot?"

She nodded, whispering. _"He is in the tack room."_

"I'll find him." Izzy drew her gun. "Stay here, I'll be right back. My friends and I are here to help you."

The tell-tale sound of a heavy wooden door creaking open caused her to turn back to the front of the barn.

Hector stood in the doorway— in perfect juxtaposition with the last time she had seen him in this situation. He had two deep scratches down his face, his jacket ripped partially, but most concerning was that he looked like he had seen a ghost. His mouth was parted, like words were supposed to be coming out, and his eyes were wide.

He looked utterly baffled. Once he started a sentence, but abruptly closed his mouth again, speechless.

"Hi."

His expression didn't change.

"Shit." Izzy became aware of how still he was and panic set in. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck._ "Hector?"

* * *

Elsie sat in her office, combing the post-mortems of the glitching hosts. Her desk looked like it belonged in 1990 — covered in actual papers and manila folders. Somewhere in the post mortems of four hosts: Peter Abernathy, the Woodcutter, and two cowboys from Fuego Amaroso, there was an answer. A reason for these glitches and aggressive behaviors. _Were they all related to the same satellite uplink system that caused the Woodcutter to wander?_ It still didn't explain how the host had been able to wake itself from sleep mode and attack Stubbs. And didn't explain how the cowboy had been able to assault a beginner-level guest.

Not to mention Hector Escaton's GSP override. Bernard could feed her lines all day about personality adjustments and guest safety measures. Something didn't add up; this sort of behavior had never happened before, even though no doubt there had been similar situations.

Something _this time_ was different.

Elsie groaned and lay her head on the cool metal desk. _She was going to be up all night._ Her tablet pinged.

[BLACKLISTED EXCHANGE DETECTED: HOSTILE HOST: Sector 8]

[ACTIVE HOST OFFLINE]

Her morbid curiosity was piqued. A blacklisted exchange _and_ a host in the park had just shut off. What the hell was going on in this place? Elsie was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if Bernard was willing to roll over for Theresa and QA.

"Which host?" she asked the tablet. "What type of exchange?"

[HECTOR ESCATON: POSSIBLE FRAGMENTATION DETECTED]

[BLACKLISTED EXCHANGE: 240: HOST – GUEST]

"Has the exchange been looked into?"

[QA MEDICAL TEAM DEPLOYED: GUEST RECOVERED]

"Was the host recovered?"

[NO: HOST NOT FOUND AT SCENE/NO REQUEST FOR RECALL]

 _What? No request for recall? There was always an automatic recall after a 240._ Despite her concern over the obvious breech of protocol, she smirked at the opportunity arising; Hector definitely had been exhibiting a pattern of misbehavior since his update, no matter what Bernard wanted everyone else to think. His substantial Cruelty increase in the matrix must have screwed with some internal processing even now that it was corrected — _dumbass Narrative techs. Were they that unaware of how delicate these machines were?_ — but there was something else going on.

Elsie knew that was why her boss put a lock on Hector, even though he wouldn't admit it. It basically allowed Bernard to keep close tabs on the host without any other department or tech interference. Apparently, it also overrode automated regulations as well.

No doubt Bernard was trying to get to the bottom of the glitch and didn't want anyone in QA finding out that one of the main attractions was going through a rebellious phase. Maybe he wanted to monitor the host behavior in order to learn how far the glitch permeated the software, and Hector was the only one exhibiting aberrant behavior that hadn't been removed and rolled back.

Besides, blacklisted exchanges weren't completely unheard of, Hector probably just hit someone with a rock again. Although a 240 was _aggravated_ assault.

"Has the host been identified by QA?"

[DUE TO ADMIN LOCK: INFORMATION DENIED TO OUTSIDE DEPARTMENTS]

Elsie couldn't believe her luck. Bernard must have had his tablet on sleep mode, so the notification was sent to her. She could investigate this situation herself, cut the crap Bernard was giving her.

Gathering her things, Elise headed to Costume. She was going out to the park to see this for herself.

* * *

It only took thirty seconds for Elsie to find the problem once she made it to sector 8. Two guests were on the prairie doing some bounty hunting, and Hector Escaton was with them, miles away from his narrative loop.

That might have been part of the problem. The hosts tended to get a little confused when they were taken from their cornerstones, usually because it meant they were running solely on improvisation, a massive tax on their hard drives.

Elsie looked down at her tablet as she walked into the barn. "Freeze all motor functions," she commented. The sounds of chaos, the shouting and gun shots, ceased.

Both guests, a young man and woman, really clean-cut Westcoast-golden tan types, stood in the barn with the hosts. The young woman seemed distraught and the man was speaking to her calmly, but her eyes turned shrewd as soon as the scene froze. Elsie resisted the urge to eye roll at the woman who obviously was prepared for a fight of some kind, although she hardly looked threatening. The guest looked more like Westworld Barbie.

 _Obnoxious rich people…I'm not here to ruin your vacation, princess._

"Don't worry, Barbie, I'm human."

The suspicion morphed into concern as the young woman sighed deeply. "Can you fix him?"

"I can try. But if he's fragmented, like the system is projecting based on preliminary reading, no. He will need a full reboot." She couldn't help but mumble, "And an attitude adjustment, stupid pain in the ass."

A thought occurred to her: _Did this woman have something to do with the Woodcutter and the satellite uplink? Was that why she was so concerned?_

The red-haired man smiled kindly. "We understand..."

The woman studied the frozen host for a long moment; there was a surprising look of weary longing in her eyes that took the edge off of Elsie's suspicions. "Please try."

Elsie pursed her lips and opened the tablet to pair with the host. As expected, his programming read as fragmented.

"He's fragmented."

"Well what does that mean?" the woman pressed, coming to stand beside her and reading the tablet. Elsie tried not to notice how she towered over her. She was also not in the mood for trying to explain highly complex technology to some civilian.

"Izzy..." the man groaned knowingly.

"He should be rebooted."

The woman, Izzy, squared her shoulders and Elsie realized she wasn't going to accept a run around. She was probably one of those hyper-privileged Shahs of Hollywood who had never been denied anything. Fortunately for her, she would probably get her way. Elsie couldn't hardly spy on Bernard's study if he knew she was tampering with it. It was in her best interest to get Hector back online as if nothing happened.

"I could see if I can give him a software restart — it would just reboot the most superficial of coding. It might get him up and running again, but it won't solve his core issues. He might act up."

What came next both surprised and amused Elsie.

"Well he's already stabbed me once. I can handle him." Izzy grinned impishly toward the host before frowning again; it seemed like she had hoped for a response.

The man mumbled something and Izzy shot him a silencing glance.

Elsie tried not to gape, scrolling through the host's narrative log. _No shit,_ Isabella Moore, the daughter of Susan Moore, was the person standing beside her, and was also the person on two of the blacklisted exchange reports. "It was you!"

"I'm a slow learner." Izzy laughed. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So you can just...fix him and nobody has to know?"

"...You have more balls than most of them," Elise joked. Her mood darkened upon looking back at the tablet. Glancing over Hector's personality matrix, she saw that Bernard hadn't reset his personality to the original settings. His Cruelty was still insanely high. She sighed, he had so much to worry about these days. She made a note to talk to him about it.

"You really need him that badly?" Elsie asked earnestly. She didn't mean to be mocking — she needed to know how serious this board member was about skirting the rules.

As long as the guests didn't tell, there was nothing to worry about (assuming she could get the host back online). If Bernard found out he would give her an earful, especially now that she had seen the host's lack of personality adjustment. Thanks to the admin lock, however, she and the guests could both pretend like the error never happened, and no one would know.

Izzy looked down at the ground. "It sounds really dumb, but I said some really mean shit to him, and if he doesn't come back online I can't ever apologize."

Elsie studied her for a long time, and eventually the blonde met her eyes soberly. _She was totally serious. Well, that was a nice change of pace, hearing someone truly concerned about being impolite to a host._ The programmer smirked at the froze outlaw. _Now I see why you've wandered so far, Hector. You're on vacation._

"So how will you know if it worked or not?"

Elsie opened the narrative panel, seeing the warning window pop up:

[HOST FRAGMENTATION DETECTED]

"Override. Elsie Hughes, I'm authorized."

[HOST FRAGMENTATION BYPASSED]

"I just tried to work around the system error, we will know in a minute because he will either come back online with the other hosts, or he won't. If he doesn't, then we have to call the QA team and have him recalled, even if Bernard doesn't like it," Elsie explained, tapping furiously through the coding.

Izzy frowned in confusion. "Bernard Lowe? Why wouldn't he want Hector to be fixed?"

"Because he put an administrator lock on him. He wanted to monitor him after all of his shenanigans…and I am going to shut up now."

The woman looked like she had a million questions to ask, and Elsie mentally smacked herself. She needed to stop talking out loud. "And don't ask me any questions because I swear to God I won't answer them."

It didn't matter, the blonde looked to be deep in her own thoughts.

Elsie coughed. "I'll step outside, in a second the hosts should come back online. We can take it from there."

* * *

Izzy watched the designer vanish into the night and waited for the scene to come back to life.

"Shit, Len, get out of here!"

He nodded and scooted around Hector and toward the door. "I did some recon, and I think that there are only a few of the gang members left. I haven't found Holden, but I'm sure I can wrap it up and we can get going."

She watched as he followed the same path the woman had just moments before. _What had she meant, that Hector had an administrative lock on him? Because of his behavior? She had been told that the hosts were either in perfect working order or down in Livestock Management getting fixed...but now Hector was being allowed to be out in the park, despite unfixed behavior?_ Izzy had known Hector wasn't behaving correctly when he remembered her from a previous loop. _Were there others exhibiting the same behaviors?_

"Duck."

Izzy had been so deep in thought and zoned out from the pain in her head that she hadn't noticed the hosts finally come back online. The woman breathed harshly, hunkered down on a haybale, and Hector stood wielding his rifle in front of her. She hit the floor in sync with a gunshot. Moseby fell down dead behind her, a perfect hole in his forehead.

Silently, Hector walked over, looking down at her with that cool enigmatic expression. She didn't know what to say, _"Hey there, I know I got shot but I didn't really so please don't ask any follow up questions"? But they were programmed to not notice that sort of thing, right?_ Fortunately, he didn't say anything. He just reached down and offered her a hand, helping her stand up.

Izzy smiled wearily, clutching his glove. It was funny how so much had changed in a week; she had been so creeped out that day in the Sweetwater hills, when he had helped her up after the epi-pen debacle. When she thought his grip felt too real and was anxious to be free from it.

"Thanks," she commented. Looking back at the dead host, she added, "And you got Moseby!"

Hector's lip curled into a reluctant smile as his eyes settled on the dead man. "I will go back and finish them off."

"Len should be out there helping. Where's Holden?"

He averted his gaze. "He is dead."

Izzy chuckled, knowing exactly what that meant. "Well Len is _not,_ and we should keep him that way."

Hector seemed to have an opinion on that but pursed his lips.

"I'll take care of her and see if I can't locate the rest of the family," she looked back and smiled at the woman.

With a curt nod, he headed out into the melee.

* * *

Len had been right. There were only a few of El Lazo's men and Confederados left to take down, and between the two of them, they did it with ease, regathering Slim Miller and heading down to the cabin.

Izzy and the woman, Janey, found her daughter, Jessica, cowering in a closet, her slightly older brother, Bryant, holding her tightly. Richard, their father, had managed to take down the two nearest outlaws as soon as he saw he had backup.

Thanks to their heroics, the homestead family welcomed the unorthodox saviors with open arms. Janey, with the help of little Jessica, cooked them dinner, while Richard, and Bryant, rushed around to offer their wash room and few amenities.

The three of them, led by an overeager Hector, tore down the makeshift camp and moved their belongings on to the farm. They turned the horses loose in the adjacent paddock. The outbuilding workshop would make a more comfortable resting place than their bedrolls, especially with the excess of quilts and pillows they were provided.

As Izzy expected, Hector had vanished soon after. When Richard went to shake his hand, he had eyed it as if it were poison before taking it reluctantly. He packed everything up with care and shouldered most of the work. It made sense that he wouldn't be comfortable in that domestic situation, but it meant that Izzy didn't really have time to pull him aside.

"I saved a plate for your friend," Janey revealed as she and Izzy cleaned up the dinner table. Jessica was sound asleep on the cot in the main room. The woman smiled secretively and gave a maternal smile. "I can clean up here, you should be getting ready for bed."

Izzy smiled back at her, taking the plate with a bowl of soup and bread, and heading out into the darkness.

* * *

It had only taken a second for her to locate Hector. He was standing by the trees on the edge of the farm, gazing out at the prairie. No doubt he could hear her trudge up the hill but made no move to acknowledge her.

"Peace offering. I bring food...and I didn't make it, so you know it's edible," Izzy broke the silence and offered the soup bowl and bread.

Hector said nothing, continuing to stare out at the hills beyond the homestead. The stars shone brightly, and the full moon kept the night from being pitch black. A perfectly-timed owl called in the distance.

After taking a moment to appreciate the sight, she bit her lip. Apologizing was one of her least favorite things to do. "I shouldn't have flipped out on you... or threatened to shoot you. I told you that I understood how everyone mourns differently, and I do. If I had an epic love story, I would probably be the same way. I would do anything to avenge them. Like, I would be actually batshit crazy, you don't even know."

He turned his head to look at her, his face impassive. His only tell was that his eyes were soft and his eyebrows tilted upward. It was a look that gave him a youthful innocence that seemed mismatched to his brooding and rugged image. Izzy felt herself inexplicably pulled toward him again, like that night they sat around the campfire.

There was a long pause, but eventually he responded. "After all of these years, all of this time, watching, waiting, planning…that sonofabitch is finally dead."

"But?" Izzy urged.

Hector fell silent. He leaned against the tree with a distant expression on his face.

"Come on, tell me. You might feel better if you say it out loud."

His look screamed that he seriously doubted that, but he gave a weary sigh. Carefully, he began again. "I feel _nothing_. When you confronted me, I was made aware that I had nothing to say. I would have sacrificed anything to achieve this goal. I had so many justifications, but when I tried to conjure any of them…it was as if I had known all along that they were not acceptable. And then when I thought you had been shot, I realized that my trivial urges for revenge should never have come before your safety. You put your faith in me, and despite evidence to the contrary, I do not take that lightly."

"Well, full disclosure, I should have told you I can't be shot…" Izzy began. His reaction seemed out of place, considering what she had been told. _Why would he have such a bad reaction to actually winning his loop for once, finally achieving the one thing he wanted in the world? Where was this confusion coming from? Or was he just doomed to never feel complete?_

Izzy breathed deeply and decided to dive in. She would have to be cautious with her objectivity, but she was still tempted to push until she hit an obvious wall; when he gave her a stock host response that demonstrated his limit of understanding. He wasn't supposed to notice her be shot, _but he did._ And apparently, he wasn't supposed to be doing a lot of things he was doing. Screw Len's justifications, that programmer knew something was wrong.

She couldn't help but try to explain things to him. "You aren't supposed to be able to notice things like that."

"Things like _… you being shot in the head?"_ Hector responded incredulously.

"Well, like you saw how Holden acted, right?" _Push._ "He was with you when I got shot, right? And he probably didn't really flinch."

He frowned pensively. "I do not know, he cursed, but it did not sound like anything to me."

She was invested and wouldn't be deterred. "He said something vague, I'm guessing. Because he didn't know _what_ to say. He didn't know what he was looking at. But, like you know, only some people are able to see Shades for what we really are. The rest of you don't notice when we do things like that."

Hector looked dumbfounded, and Izzy wiggled her eyebrows playfully just to see if he would react, or if she had managed to break his brain _again_. It was hard to tell if he was contemplating her words or was in a mode of feigned confusion that would continue until she said something he understood.

Finally, he turned to her, boyish curiosity plain on his face. _"Puta madre_ …did it hurt? What did it feel like? You have a red mark on your forehead."

Izzy squelched any outward excitement. _He had understood her!_ Perhaps within the context of the Shade mythology, something built into his narrative, he was able to understand things any other host couldn't.

"Well yeah, actually it hurts really bad and I could definitely be injured. I've never been shot before. But bullets don't kill me like they would... you know."

"So your brain is certainly bleeding as we speak." Hector smirked. "You will most likely die in your sleep."

She smiled, suppressing a laugh. "PROBABLY AND IT'S NOT FUNNY."

"I would never dare to make fun of you." His expression said the exact opposite, but with a sigh, he continued, "I will be up for a few more hours, you can rest easy."


	17. Chapter 17

Exhausted was putting it lightly. After eating dinner and figuring out what to do with Slim Miller, the three of them passed out in the workshop-turned-camp; the pillows and blankets were a godsend. Not even the ever-vigilant Hector woke up until early afternoon and they were greeted with a lunch served by Janey and Jessica before packing up to leave.

Even then, they were encouraged to stay as long as they wanted, and Izzy decided to use some of that time catching the loose horses from the night before. The men all followed her lead. Not only would they then have an extra pack horse, but Miller wouldn't have to be dragged behind them. (Izzy was _not_ okay with him being dragged behind them). The family would be able to sell the extra horses as well. Win-win.

The ride to Pariah was short, and even being far from Sweetwater, they didn't want to chance someone recognizing Hector from a wanted poster. Their best option was riding in at dusk and immediately finding a hotel. By then, according to Len, Slim Miller will have bartered freedom for a meeting with El Lazo and Len could continue on to his War narrative.

The hours seemed to creep by, however, because nobody spoke. Izzy was still half-asleep from fatigue which kept her from mediating a conversation between the three of them; needless to say, Hector and Len didn't chat amongst themselves. At the thought of Hector, she groaned mentally. After their heart-to-heart the night before, thing had become – _weird_. Or maybe they hadn't? Maybe it was all in her head and he _wasn't_ being weird; he was just quiet by nature. Ugh. She might as well be dating a 20-year-old poet for how much mental maneuvering she had been doing during this trip.

Not that she thought she was dating Hector. That wasn't what she meant...

"Come on, you guys!" Slim Miller complained from his horse. "I know you're just in it for the money! You ain't no lawmen!"

When the narrative kicked back in, Izzy was relieved. It gave her brain something to do other than over-examine her non-existent relationship with an android.

"Be quiet," Hector dead-panned. It was the first thing he had said in a long time.

It was obvious that Len's curiosity was piqued. This must have been what he was waiting for. "Yeah?"

"Look, my boss, El Lazo, he'll pay you twice what the marshals will if you cut me loose and take me with you to Pariah."

Izzy forgot that the host didn't know they were already planning to take him to Pariah. He thought they were stopping at an outpost and turning him in.

"Oh, will he?" Len replied. He was back in cowboy mode.

"Why are you acting as if we had not planned all along to take him with us to Pariah?" Hector asked.

Len eyed him murderously. Hector was unphased.

"Miller," he turned to the tied-up outlaw. "We are going to take you to El Lazo. But if you should think to double cross us, I will personally see to it that El Lazo would not even be able to find pieces of you, were he so inclined. _¿Vale?"_

Slim Miller nodded emphatically, a desperate look in his big blue eyes. "Of course, sir! ¡Sí, sí, por supuesto, señor!"

Hector leveled his bored gaze on Len. "It would have saved us all time and effort if you would have handled this yourself. _Hours ago."_

Izzy was relieved that Len didn't look for her for support. It was true...they wouldn't have had to babysit Slim Miller to keep him from escaping if they had just aligned themselves with him from the start.

Santo pawed impatiently, and Hector patted his neck impatiently. She agreed with both studs.

 _Hehe_. Izzy giggled to herself. _Pun_. Oh god, this was going to be a long day. Her brain had just gotten used to running on no sleep, now it was disoriented by too much.

She sighed and waved a hand conciliatorily. "We are so close, you guys. Come on."

* * *

"Where is Mr. Sizemore?"

The narrative tech looked up from her desk at the young man in front of her. He seemed nervous. "He is on a 'well-deserved break' as he calls it. I think he's up at the mesa bar. Why?"

"I tried to call him a few times now and couldn't get a hold of him."

"Regarding what?" The woman was intrigued. What could this little intern possibly be offering Lee Sizemore?

The man shifted and diverted his gaze. "He just asked that I make him aware of something going on in the park. It happened yesterday, and I've been trying to get a hold of him since."

"I can always pass on a message, if you want to send it to my tablet."

"Oh…no…it's okay. Thank you though. I'll check up there myself."

Looking back down at her screen, the narrative tech brushed off the exchange.

* * *

Lee lounged on a couch, soaking up the afternoon sun on the mesa deck. Now _this_ was living. _Stupid pretentious arsehole...how could he just throw away all of his work? He had poured his heart, hundreds of hours, into that narrative. And Ford just dismissed it like it was a fucking macaroni sculpture._

Crazy old geezer needed the boot, good thing the board members' vote was coming up.

"Um...Mr. Sizemore?"

Lee turned to see the lanky tech, Dustin, lingering awkwardly. "What is it?"

"You told me to tell you if Isabella Moore made any more calls. She made one last night. I have an audio..."

"It happened last night, and you didn't bloody tell me until right now?" Lee fumed, slamming his margarita on the table. Dustin shifted his weight and diverted his attention. _Oh yeah, he was the one who had disappeared and was without his tablet._ "Never mind all that, let me listen to it."

It was a longer conversation, and he had to wade through a few minutes of pleasantries before getting to anything of value. Susan Moore was shocked, naturally, at the run of bad luck her daughter had with glitching hosts. Izzy seemed to be upset by something Hector had done – finally! Lee was afraid his desperado was losing his touch.

Apparently, he hadn't been forthcoming with information regarding his backstory, which was curious to Lee, because usually anything that set Hector off about Isabella ended up as a long-winded, flowery diatribe about losing the light in his life. But upon listening to how it shook out, Lee decided the host was still in-character, just a bit more creative than Lee had given him credit for. The fact that the girl had the same name as his cornerstone probably threw the programming off a little.

The last bit of recording made Lee want to kiss Susan Moore on the lips; she was trying to talk Izzy out of thinking that the hosts were coming to life. She explained that they were hard-wired to follow a narrative and were unable to divert from that path. _Thank fuck, luck seemed to be on their side._

Making sure that Dustin couldn't see the number he punched into the tablet, Lee sent the audio in a message:

 _It looks like Susan had a change of heart. We may be able to change her vote after all._

"Thank you, Dustin," Lee began, handing the tablet back to the tech. He handed him the margarita as well. "You've earned it."

"Oh...um...thank you, sir."

It was at that moment that a beautiful bikini-clad woman walked over to the bar. Dustin scooted by and down the stairs, but Lee hardly noticed.

" _Jesus."_

Straightening his unbuttoned shirt, Lee followed her to the bar.

"You look like a woman who could use a drink. What's your poison?"

He leaned casually on the bar, noticing that she was even hotter up close.

The woman giggled demurely and squeezed a lime into her water. "I've been here enough to know that the park is all the poison I can handle."

"Mm, a repeat visitor." This was where Lee shone, he knew people better than they knew themselves. _Prepare to be impressed, lady._ "Traveling solo? Purist. Getting off on the undiluted experience. Your favorite narrative is... oh. 'The Final Burial of Salvation'."

"How did you know?" she asked with delighted surprise.

"Well, it's my business to read desires and to satiate them. I'm... I'm Lee, Lee Sizemore. Head of narrative."

* * *

"What the hell?"

Upon reaching the Union base on the Pariah border, the foursome had been prepared for any and all scenarios: a friendly escort, a shootout, and everything in between. Beyond the small encampment there was a steep hill, and beyond that was the wall surrounding the town.

They had not been expecting to find a bloodbath. All of the soldiers were dead, strewn about the center of the outpost.

"Stay here," Hector commented, his gun drawn as he surveyed the surrounding terrain carefully. Until he could more closely examine the bodies, he had no idea where the shots came from or how fresh they were. The assailants could still be lurking.

"Hector, I..." Izzy started. He didn't know exactly what face he made, but it silenced her.

Hector did not care if she technically couldn't be shot or killed. Quite frankly, he did not want to delve into that mind fuckery. But he was damned if he was going to let her put herself in harm's way just because of her compulsion to be at the forefront of every dangerous scenario.

Dismounting, he walked up to the closest corpse. It was fresh, maybe a couple hours, and judging by the blood pooled on the sand, he had died in this position. Hector called upon the hunting lessons he had learned from the natives.

"What do you-"

"It came from that direction," he pointed across the camp. There was nowhere to hide, just flat desert grass beyond the wagon. With a grimace, Hector rolled the dead soldier onto his back, surprised by the massive exit wound. If he had to guess, the wound looked like it was caused by a trapdoor rifle, a military rifle. _Had the soldiers fired on each other?_

"Can you tell anything?" Izzy asked. Hector sighed and considered chastising her, but he supposed it had been a few minutes since she promised to stay away.

"This wound is from a military rifle, it came from that direction and was at relatively far range. We will have to check the others to make sure, but I would suspect they will all have the same small entry and large exit wound."

"So, you think that all of them were killed by the same gun?"

Hector surveyed the carnage, paying close attention to where the bodies lay and where the gunshot wounds were; they all spread from a focus. It was then that he saw it, the Gatling gun mounted on the wagon.

"I think they were all killed by that gun."

She looked behind her. Hector walked toward the wagon, stopping right before the Gatling gun and looking out at the scene with his rifle drawn. Yes, as he took aim in the same direction, he was sure they had all been killed by whoever had control of that gun. _Interesting._

"Weird. I wonder what happened!" Len chimed in, obviously not interested in the situation.

"Len, I know you want to get going," Izzy retorted good-naturedly. "Don't pretend to be involved."

Both Len and Slim Miller voiced their disagreement, but Hector knew she was right. "There is nothing more to say. If they were killed by this gun, then there is no threat. Just stay alert."

"Miller, you know where we're going, right?" Izzy asked. Her attention was drawn to the edge of the campsite and she walked away from the group without stopping to hear Miller's response.

The outlaw nodded vigorously despite her obvious distraction. "Sure do, ma'am, and once we cross the gates, you will reap the full benefits of El Lazo's gratitude for my safe return.""

She continued to walk across the open space, fixated on the scattered trees on the outskirts. Hector shifted slightly, she was getting too far away for comfort.

"Izzy, no te vayas lejos," he commented, feeling quite a bit of unexpected concern well up inside him. He didn't want her just wandering out into the camp, they couldn't be sure that there wasn't someone hanging around.

She turned to him with a look of confusion and pointed to a twisted, greying tree. "Hector isn't this…" Her eyes darted imperceptibly to Len. "Este es el mismo símbolo que está en tu mapa, ¿no?"

For the sake of secrecy, which for whatever reason Izzy seemed to require, Hector left Len and Slim Miller to see the symbol she was talking about. Sure enough, that same horseshoe design with the stick figure inside was carved on the tree trunk. "¿Significa algo para ti?"

"Well, no but isn't it weird?"

"Yes."

"It looks like he's standing at the center of a maze." Izzy noted, reaching out and tracing the lines with an elegant finger.

Suddenly something occurred to Hector. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it the first time. "It could be a native symbol. The natives have a legend about a man who lives at the center of a maze. He had been killed hundreds of times, but always came back to life."

She eyed him curiously, and Hector wished he knew what she was really thinking. This wasn't the first time her eyes had a faraway look that betrayed the volume of thoughts racing in her mind. Izzy was hiding something, some knowledge. He hoped she would share it one day, now that threatening her with violence was off the table.

"So, he hid in the maze?"

Hector nodded. He had only heard the story once around a fire, but he tried to remember all of the details. "I believe so. It goes that he built the maze so complicated, only he could navigate through it."

Izzy stared at the symbol a moment longer before walking back with him to the horses.

* * *

Lee was so fucked. He lay on his bed at the mesa, dwelling on his current situation. This was not the way he wanted to be welcomed back. This day had started off so well.

" _This is Charlotte Hale, the director of the board."_

 _Well bloody hell._ He was lucky she couldn't fire him directly, although he had a sneaking suspicion that Theresa set him up. She expected him to make an ass of himself in front of Charlotte, and he did. _Bitch._

 _There was little hope in swaying her into his corner regarding the new narrative now. But maybe if he did some swift damage control, dove back into work, he could save-face._

Lee groaned. He was ready to go to bed and try to put this whole shitshow of a day behind him when his phone rang.

Looking down at the caller ID, Lee braced himself. "Hello?"

"Sizemore, what the fuck?"

Lee cringed, he had seen the missed call earlier, but had been too drunk and then later, too busy in a shitstorm of his own creation, to call back. "Dale, how are you?"

"How do you think I am. We have a week before the vote, not even, and I'm still hearing phone calls like this."

"What do you mean? I thought you would be pleased! It's obvious that Susan is trying to talk her daughter off of the ledge she was on. Who would have thought Susan the Crusader would be helping us?" Lee defended. He had honestly been relieved by the recorded call he heard.

"I wouldn't. Are you that stupid that one phone call with overt bullshit lowered your guard? You don't honestly think that Susan believes that, do you? It's obvious that this is worse than expected. Susan thinks she knows something, and she's got Izzy locked onto the same train of thought. She did this to shake suspicion because she knows that everything in the park is recorded. I wouldn't be surprised if she found a secondary form of communication we can't track."

"Well, what do you suggest we do? We have tried coming at it from both angles, and at some point, isn't the point of a vote…to have a vote? I mean we could take her on another tour, maybe she could sit in on a designer creating a personality or something if you think it would help…" Lee asked. He was so tired, he had a department to run and damage control to do to cover his own ass. He didn't particularly like the older man's cutthroat philosophy either. Lee always considered himself shrewd, but this was a whole different level.

There was a long pause before the other man spoke again.

"I will reach out and see if that could be arranged. But it will have to be a hell of a demonstration."

Lee didn't realize he was holding his breath. "Okay, well keep me posted. I'll let you know if anything changes on my end."

"See that you do. I'll be contacting William to know his exact stance, but as I said, his allegiance is bizarrely aligned with Ford, despite their motivational differences, and he's been in the park covertly for weeks. Who knows if he has been doing any politicking himself."

"Understood."

At least it would give Lee something to think about other than Charlotte Hale.

* * *

Pariah was beautiful. Between Len's horror stories and Hector ready to go in guns blazing - Izzy was expecting the worst. And as they led their horses through the crowded streets, it seemed like both men _still_ were expecting the worst.

The architecture was all Spanish colonial, full of sweeping arches and Roman villa-style homes, and loud music was blaring from street bands dressed in traditional Mexican clothing. A palatal hacienda loomed on the hill beyond, glowing in the pink and yellow sunset. It looked like something out of a fairytale, and like it had no business lording over a town of degenerates.

Could she have done without the naked people screwing everywhere? _Sure._ But the city itself was a work of art, and that was what Izzy decided to focus on.

"So, what is your first impression of Pariah?" Hector asked as they followed Len and Slim Miller through the main street.

"It's beautiful."

"I am sure that is the first time it has been called that."

Izzy gave him a suffering look. "The architecture is beautiful. And look at that hacienda! _It's amazing._ I am focusing on that, because – believe it or not – naked gold-painted women just don't get me going."

Hector _laughed_. Not his normal smug chuckle, an actual laugh. It was a nice sound, if not seemingly rare, and came with a glimpse of pearly white teeth.

"Fair. So, you mean to tell me that you do _not_ want to visit the infamous brothel."

"Not even a little," she joked.

"This place exemplifies the madness of the world, all the basest of primal urges amassed into one, all-consuming hellhole."

"Tell me how you really feel, Hector. I feel like you're being a little indirect."

He smirked at her comment. "Do not, for a moment, let your guard down."

Continuing to take in the hustle and bustle of the vendors, Izzy pointed to a stall where a host with makeup like a skeleton on his face was selling flowers and body painting, adding: "If I get drunk enough to want my face painted like a skeleton...keep me away from that booth, no matter how hard I struggle."

Hector nodded curtly, but Izzy found herself stopped by his arm. A group of rough-looking men spilled into the street, carrying a Confederate flag proudly. The way the civilians reacted to them was telling; it was as if they were parting a sea.

"There is a special place in Hell for men who carry a rebel flag and claim to be patriots."

Izzy was taken aback, but ended up nodding in agreement. "You have no idea how much I agree with that."

As soon as the Confederados passed, the two went back to following Len and Slim Miller. El Lazo was at a saloon on the outskirts of town.

He was an intimidating man, slightly older, tall and muscular with a hardened expression that showed he wasn't one to suffer fools. As he sat casually on the patio, two men stood guard behind him.

"We saved your man, Slim, here," Len explained.

El Lazo eyed them all with consideration, and fortunately Slim Miller didn't share any details regarding their situation.

Len took his hat off and leaned back in the wooden chair calmly. Izzy hadn't imagined he could look so cool. "In exchange, I want an introduction to your Confederado friends."

"What!?" Izzy exclaimed. _How could he want to work with those monsters?_ Hector was stoic beside her, staring down the other outlaw.

Len ignored the outburst. "That's fair."

El Lazo chuckled condescendingly. "There's no such thing as fair here. In Pariah, justice ain't just blind, she's crooked. Bitch's scales are always tipped. If you don't see how, well, that's 'cause they're tipped against you. Still, by way of gratitude, I can supply you a night with some very amenable women."

"I'm not interested in whores. You're gonna need to make this worth my time."

"How about I do it by killing you quickly?"

Hector reached for his gun at the threat, and the man behind El Lazo ruffled in response. El Lazo raised his hands slightly to deescalate the situation, a sly smirk on his face.

"How's about you prove your worth, and then we talk. A Union convoy's transporting a shipment of nitroglycerin from the front tomorrow. The Confederados would like to divest them of said shipment, but we are not welcome that side of the border. A trio of travelers such as yourselves, however..."

"No, Len. What the hell? Stealing from the Union? Sir, these pieces of backwoods trash are murdering and raping your people below the border! Why would you be helping them?"

El Lazo looked at her wistfully. "It's just business, señorita."

"Count me in," Len agreed. He looked at Izzy and gave her a small smile. This must be how he was going to get to the narrative he wanted.

El Lazo made the mistake of levelling his gaze on Hector, who lingered behind Izzy. "And what about you, friend? Or are you content to hide behind your sharp-tongued lady-friend?"

Hector raised an eyebrow at the challenge and made his way to the crude table. He already seemed to have no patience for El Lazo's self-aggrandizing flavor, and Izzy honestly didn't know what to expect from him; his face divulged no particular emotion. But the answer came quickly enough. Hector placed his hands down on the table gently, leaning toward the other man and locking eyes. And _then_ he unleashed a stream of slow, deliberate Spanish invective.

" _No._ No vamos a hacer tus mandatos ni ser tus peones. Mi amiga está cansada y tiene hambre. Te dimos tu amigo. No somos caballitos de truco, habla con Len si quieres un gofer porque ella y yo no vamos a hacer _nada_ más."

"Que lastima, tu amiga es la única que vale la pena." El Lazo chuckled, but his body language was conciliatory - even he seemed to know not to push Hector further.

"Bueno, bueno, cálmate, mi hermano. No quise ofender a tu mujer." He turned to Izzy and tipped his hat amicably. "Lo siento, señorita."

"Len would be happy to go with you, but like Hector said, we aren't your trick ponies and we aren't your peons. We didn't bring Slim Miller back to you, so we could become errand boys," Izzy affirmed, looking to Hector for back-up. He was still glaring at El Lazo.

"I like a lady with backbone. Very well, Len. If you are the one up to it, your work will be appreciated by me and my compadres. Now, by ways of hospitality, what can I do for the little lady, since she seems to be running this show?"

Len nodded in agreement and one of the men shook his hand cordially, leading him into the bar. A muscle ticked in Izzy's jaw. She didn't appreciate being called a "little lady".

"She wants to see the mansion on the hill," Hector replied matter-of-factly.

Izzy didn't know what to say, but it was true. She really wanted to go into the castle-like hacienda. And he must have noticed.

El Lazo pursed his lips, deep in thought. He had one of his men lean down and talked to him quietly before addressing them again. "I can get you both invitations to the ball tonight, if that will do."

"We need a place to stay," Izzy explained regretfully. She appreciated Hector's maneuvering, and a real-life ball sounded _amazing,_ but first thing was first.

One of El Lazo's men came out of the bar and handed him two letters. "All-inclusive tickets, for my new amigos."

Hector's eyes narrowed at the word "amigos", it was obvious that his dislike for El Lazo was not going to be swayed.

Izzy took the invitations.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Mature warning ahead.**

* * *

"Are you guests?" A well-dressed parlor maid asked as soon as Izzy and Hector walked through the outer -doorway arches of the palatial hacienda and into the lobby.

"Yes, here are our invitations," Izzy smiled, trying to regulate her ragged breath. It had been a long walk up the hill from the town. Although the tiled driveway and immaculate landscaping made her all the more excited to see the interior.

Her eyes swept over the foyer and past it into the great room, with its fluid, rounded architecture and warm, bright colors. It was even more lavish on the inside, furnished like a royal home. The floors were all glittering marble with busy, fantastical patterns of birds and fauna that were tied in by the indoor trees and ferns. The massive archways were bookended by scroll columns, and stained-glass lanterns hung from the ceilings and walls. It looked like it was built before the 19th century, possibly early Spanish colonial.

The matronly Latina took the papers, examining them thoroughly. "Well you're a bit late, most of the guests have settled in and begun preparing already..."

Izzy didn't have to look back to know that it was Hector's stare that caused the woman to trail off shame-faced.

With an uneasy smile, she continued, "You both have plenty of time before the ball, of course. I'll have you each assigned a servant who will help you prepare. If you need any help, do not hesitate to let me know."

Izzy nodded amiably. "Thank you so much! This hacienda is quite the marvel."

This seemed to be something that the woman wholeheartedly agreed with, because the pride was apparent on her face. "It certainly is. The hacienda de San Pedro Mártir goes back to the time of the Spanish conquest. It belonged to one of the captains of the conqueror of Mexico, Hernán Cortez Pizarro, before being gifted to the current family."

Within moments, a maid and valet appeared, and it was a good thing too, because Izzy could have gotten wrapped up in the "history" of the house. The bubbly young woman bobbed a curtsy and immediately began chatting excitedly about finding Izzy something elegant to wear.

Hector stared at the valet expressionlessly; Izzy was amazed at how far away he managed to shift from the brightly dressed servant, without having actually moved his feet.

Surprisingly, the valet gave a patient smile. "I'll show you your room and draw you a bath."

It seemed as if the flamboyant young man was used to mild hostility and was even amused by it. He looked over to Izzy. "Do not give it another thought, señorita, I've shined much more tarnished brass than this."

She giggled. Hector did not.

* * *

The guest rooms did not disappoint. Unlike the quaint utilitarian vibe of the Mariposa rooms, the lady's quarters at the hacienda were as lavish as the main rooms. A small parlor with an over-sized fireplace, sitting area and scalloped window was attached to a bedroom by a short flight of stairs. The bathroom was attached to the back of that.

As Izzy sat in the clawfoot tub, the maid diligently washing and styling her hair, she had too much time to think about what had transpired before they left Len to his new narrative.

" _Lee says one of the narrative designers is working on a personality tomorrow. He thought you would like to see how the hosts are formed."_

" _I already saw how they're formed."_

" _Well…yeah, but I mean like how their personality and software is coded. You know, like how they get all those details that make them seem like they're alive when they're really just computers."_

" _What are you getting at? There's obviously an under-handed point to this."_

" _No! I mean, I know that you've had a bizarre run of bad luck with the hosts, and then with the design tech saying something – inappropriately – about the hosts acting oddly. I just thought it would be a good way to clear your headspace. Besides, you have to be exhausted, is your head alright? That's not something to take lightly…"_

" _So, you and Lee concocted this to try to get me to change my mom's vote."_

" _Why would you say that? This is for you, so you can get the most out of the park and make an informed decision regarding…"_

" _Regarding my opinion of the hosts," Izzy finished. He was so transparent, she was amazed he was such a good salesman in the real world. "Which, according to you, is the wrong opinion."_

" _What do you mean? I don't think your opinion is wrong!"_

" _Then why are you trying to change it? It's all you and your team have been trying to do since I got here. Lee was working on it even before then."_

" _I just don't want you to look foolish in front of the other board members. Everyone has a time where they read more into the hosts than is really there; it passes."_

" _Or it doesn't. My mom, for example, who I would say knows more about the hosts than most of the board members."_

 _He shifted uncomfortably. "Your mom worked here at a time that the robots broke and did crazy shit all the time because they were prototypes still."_

" _I don't think that's completely true."_

" _Izzy."_

" _I think that there is more going on here. I think that it's been swept under the rug because nobody wants to acknowledge the possibility or the ramifications of what could be happening. It's easier to kill and erase and patch and pretend."_

" _You don't know what you're talking about. And I would really suggest getting your facts straight before you make an accusation about the ethics of this park."_

" _I'm working on getting my fact straight, Len. It's my fucking job to compile facts. And maybe they aren't going full-bicentennial man, but I think that the possibilities of the technology have intentionally been ignored. I think that it would be the most ethical thing to at least investigate the limits of host cognition."_

" _QA and Design do that constantly."_

" _No, I mean have an outside party, that has no vested interest in the outcome, investigate."_

" _That's impossible. Part of Delos' lucrativeness is that they are the sole owners of the information. They would never allow that, and I think you need to drop it."_

" _I know they wouldn't, unless a court ordered them to."_

 _Izzy thought Len might honestly throw up. His face was drained of color and his eyes had a glint of panic._

" _Izzy, please. Please just wait to make rash decisions." He held her arms and whispered in her ear in a creepily intimate gesture. "For your own sake, you need to drop it. Please, Izzy. Please."  
_

She had never seen Len that way, so completely out-of-sorts. Was his father putting all of this pressure on him? Or was it the rest of the board? Either way, Izzy couldn't help but feel like they were hiding something. Hector had remembered her post-death, he had even recalled the exact memory of his death, and it had been confirmed that that was _not_ supposed to happen. Len had reported Hector's behavior to QA, so there was no way he could spin it as part of the "immersive experience". That opened up questions regarding Hector's cognitive abilities, things that could otherwise be brushed-off, now needed to be considered.

Maybe Delos didn't even know what they were dealing with, really. And neither did Izzy. She wasn't going to pretend for a moment that she understood the complex coding and technology behind the hosts, or whether inanimate objects could attain sentience or not, but she did know how to spot liars and manipulators. This company was full of them. If there was even the slightest chance that the hosts were becoming self-aware, it was someone's duty to protect them.

She could call her acquaintances at the Non-human Rights Project. They dealt with great apes, dolphins, and whales, mainly, but Steve might have an idea how to go about an inquest.

"If you keep frowning like that, miss, you'll get a wrinkle right down the middle of your forehead!" the maid joked as she brushed out Izzy's hair.

She smiled at the host, relieved that she had snapped her attention back to the present. She had a ball to go to.

* * *

Hector felt naked without his normal outerwear. He had already reached down to touch his pistol four times only to remember he wasn't wearing _either_ of his holsters. This vest didn't even have a secret knife compartment.

He took a deep breath and sipped his whiskey while lounging on a couch, _like a gentleman would._ Who knew he would ever be thanking his father for the childhood lessons in comportment. _Too bad they did little to erase the "savage" in him._ Hector smirked, silently toasting his father – wherever the bastard was.

Despite the discomfort, Hector realized it was worth it when he saw the other gentlemen in the excited valet assured him that he looked quite dashing in his new getup. Hector knew that the bath was a necessity but had been informed by his manservant that simply losing the hat and gun would _not_ suffice.

That was how he ended up wearing formal attire. The double-breasted vest was black silk with dark purple swirls, and the black trousers fit over shiny congress gaiters. Hector felt like he was a child in New York again, desperate to remember all the rules his tutor was spewing at him about etiquette.

When Hector had finally forced himself downstairs into the party, a few other men nodded their acknowledgements as they themselves waited for their partners. Despite societal niceties, they were not subtle in their appraisals. Hector took consolation in the absurdity of their outfits. Now, if he hated himself he would have let his valet dress him like that.

 _Like a foppish anglomaniac._

A waiter came by and brought him another glass of whiskey, and he downed the remaining contents before exchanging glasses. He should have thought to bring his flask - _better yet, he should have drunk the contents of his flask before he even came down._ Hector felt so fantastically out of place here, amongst the _beau monde_ west of the Mississippi. He felt like his every move was scrutinized, like he was an exotic animal in a menagerie. That certainly was in-part because he was the darkest person in the room that wasn't part of the wait staff.

Fortunately, Hector was able to find an empty sitting alcove to hide in. He didn't like to think of it as hiding, but who was he kidding. The ballroom's baroque architecture and decoration was almost smothering and added to the sensation that he was trapped in a large nightmarish exaggeration of his childhood.

Amidst the blur of gilded wallpapers, glittering candelabras, and mingling guests, Izzy cautiously made her way down the oversized staircase.

Her ball gown was blood red with gold brocade detail, the straight neckline testing the limits of modesty, and short cream-colored sleeves draped off her shoulders. Her hair was half-up, the loose curls falling elegantly over her shoulders. Her lips matched the color of the silky gown.

Izzy caught sight of him and flashed a pearly smile. Hector smiled back, an odd queasiness forming in the pit of his stomach as he walked across the dining room to offer her a hand at the bottom of the staircase. The solitary men who had earlier been eager to point out his lack of belonging stared intently.

"Que galante," Izzy murmured, taking his hand as she navigated the final few steps with her large skirt in the other hand.

"Bueno," Hector smirked. A lightheartedness overcame him, and he took her hand in his arm, guiding her through the crowd. _Fuck those people. They would never know how lucky they were that this woman was here to distract him from more homicidal tendencies_. "Si voy a vestirme como un galán, debo actuar galantemente."

"Well, I think you look very dashing, and thank you for helping me down the stairs because I was genuinely afraid of tripping and falling," she joked. His nervousness dissipated somewhat at her praise; maybe he didn't stick out like a blundering half-breed after all. _Whose opinion on his turnout mattered other than hers, anyway?_

"You did not give any impression other than that of nobility, you hid your fear well." Hector stared ahead, navigating them to one of the banquet tables.

Izzy regarded him for a moment before casting her eyes downward.

" _Sooo…_ do you know those men? Do you think they recognized you from a wanted poster?" the concern was glaring in her voice as she gestured subtly across the room.

Hector knew exactly which men she was referencing, his _friends_. They were still standing in their clique, demonstrating their disapproval. "They need not recognize anything other than the color of my skin to feel an urge to scrutinize."

"Ah." Izzy nodded. He felt her hand tighten slightly on his arm. "We should go introduce ourselves, don't you think?"

Hector liked the devilish look in her eyes; he wasn't going to dissuade her. Without breaking her challenging gaze, Izzy tilted her head slightly and tested a dazzling, artificial smile on him. Hector smirked.

"Hello, gentlemen. Wonderful evening isn't it?" she purred. All four men stood at attention.

"Yes, ma'am, it certainly is. More so now that you are in our company, I dare say," an older, round man with a thick accent replied immediately. "I didn't catch your name, miss!"

Izzy allowed him to take her hand and kiss it with a flourish, and Hector's hand gripped her waist tighter. "Isabella Moore, and this is my chaperone, Hector Escaton."

The man plastered on a friendly smile and shook Hector's hand. "Collis Huntington, of Central Pacific Railroad. Pleasure."

They went around to each man, faking courtesy. He did notice Izzy and one of the men eyeing each other, the man seemed positively sheepish as he shrunk down into his jacket. They must have known each other.

"Craig! How good it is to see you again," she exclaimed jovially. The man blanched, his eyes flicking between the two. If it was possible, he seemed more scared of Hector. _But why?_ "Where is Lori?"

"Oh, Izzy..." Craig shifted. "She'll be down any minute. It takes her forever to get ready, I'm sure you know, with the...and the...how's...how..."

Hector made a note to ask who this man was, because Izzy was happy to let him flounder agonizingly. He was shocked to see that she seemed to be reveling in it.

A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne flutes and Hector grabbed one on Izzy's behalf. He wasn't one to interfere in someone's revenge scheme, but he couldn't help it. That sort of anger didn't seem to suit her. "I cannot speak for the quality of this, but it's a start."

Izzy smiled and curtsied with a self-deprecating laugh. It was like the vengeance had vanished. "I don't know if or when I'm supposed to curtsy. I don't know much about etiquette."

Craig chuckled nervously. "You pull it off, Izzy."

Her icy glare silenced him abruptly, and Hector gave Craig a curt nod before guiding her away. The vengeance was there, lurking. And it was another curiosity to add to his ever-growing list.

Leaning down to her ear, Hector commented, "Well I am drawing upon the tutelage I received at 10 years old, so I would not know. But, I would say that if you feel compelled to curtsy, indulge."

* * *

Seeing Craig had shaken Izzy to her core. It had been a stunning reminder of their realty, of the horrific scene that had not only impacted her, but Hector as well. The gruesome callousness of gods amongst mortals. Craig had a souvenir photo of himself with Hector's dead body. That was the reality, her reality.

But Craig would never get that satisfaction again, not while she was there. The wave of visceral protectiveness that had come over her upon seeing the other guest had surprised her but watching how flustered and meek he was in front of them made up for it in-part. He wasn't a total monster; seeing Hector alive and well had unnerved him profoundly.

Now, after a bit of champagne, Izzy had taken the edge off of her righteous anger and watched the ballroom floor fill with partners as the orchestra struck up another piece.

"The Waltz of the Flowers! Aw, I love this ballet."

"Which one would that be?"

"The Nutcracker. My mom and I used to go every year when the local ballet performed it."

"What is it about?"

"It's about a girl who gets a nutcracker as a Christmas gift. Their uncle is toymaker and inventor. Her older sister falls in love with the nutcracker."

Hector scoffed. "She falls in love with a doll?"

Izzy turned to him with mock exasperation. "Well he's not like a _tiny_ nutcracker when she falls in love with him, he's a prince. Their uncle uses his magic to make the two girls and their cousin doll-sized and then the nutcracker comes to life. And then the prince's army saves them from the evil mouse king."

 _"There is an evil rodent king."_

There was a pointed silence and Hector fought to keep a straight face. "Continue your story."

"Well they fight. The prince is killed by the mouse king, but the uncle sees how sad the girl is, and appears from nowhere to bring him back to life, more human than before. _That's_ when she falls in love with him."

The couple watched the dancefloor in companionable silence.

"So how does it end? Does the girl live in the tiny world forever after?"

Izzy frowned as an unsettling feeling crept up her spine. "No. She has to go back because the magic ends at dawn."

Hector made a funny face.

"Well that's the thing. At the end we realize that it was a dream and the uncle planned the whole thing. The prince is actually his assistant. It works out." Izzy watched his lip twitch in amusement. "Okay so regardless of plot holes, the music is amazing."

"I will have to take your word for it."

They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the song and through the next, enjoying the surplus of available alcohol. A few couples acknowledged them with a polite comment or a nod, but they were mainly alone. Izzy focused on the dancefloor, they all looked so graceful. She noted that even a few glasses of whiskey didn't seem to be helping Hector settle in; he exuded a tense nervousness – like he could bolt at any time.

"Do you know how to waltz? From your reform school days?" Izzy prodded, feeling a need to lighten the mood.

He looked down at her warily. "No."

"You _never_ learned the most popular dance of the century?"

"I..." Hector sighed. "I _did,_ but I have not been forced to perform it in over twenty-five years."

"Can I force you to perform it now? Come on please! I want to dance, don't make me go ask some random guy to dance with me. That wouldn't be gallant at all."

"Would you go ask Craig?"

"Asshole," Izzy retorted with amusement.

"Do _you_ know how to waltz?" he asked carefully.

Izzy frowned. "Well…no. That's why I asked you. If I'm going to make a total fool of myself, I'd like to do it with you instead of some stranger...or fucking Craig."

Hector watched the dancers for a while before exhaling wearily. Izzy knew that she had won.

* * *

"Sir, I have a request for a waltz coming from Pariah."

Ashley Stubbs frowned in joking confusion. "A request for what?"

The blonde woman smiled as she read the tablet. "Hector Escaton is with a guest who wants to dance, and his log says he would choose to acquiesce."

"If he isn't programmed to do it, then he can't do it."

"Well that's the thing, in Hector's backstory he did learn how to waltz…just nobody actually coded it. Can I process the request?"

Stubbs nodded. "Another oversight by the geniuses in Design. Sure, let him have a dance."

"I hate to make excuses for the programmers, but I'm sure nobody ever thought that Hector would need to actually utilize the skill. His backstory is limited at best, but this guest is on a relationship-based narrative, so she's pushing his backstory to the limit."

"Every dog has his day I guess. I hope Prince Charming has a nice night."

"I think I got it! ... Oh shit, I shouldn't have said anything."

"You are doing fine, keep your chin up and your frame tight...you may just pass for a lady." He braved a glance down at her as they spun around the edge of the dance floor.

Izzy was relieved to find that the basic steps of a waltz were easy to pick up, and the man led very closely. It had only taken a few turns before she stopped looking like a totally uncoordinated spaz, and Hector didn't have to count _every_ step for her; she found he was a patient teacher, once he invested.

"Very cute. How about you? I had to drag you out here on pain of death, and here you are, leading me around like a regular dandy. I've been watching the crowd, you have quite a few ladies admiring you, even with your sour face."

"Two men already thought to cut in," Hector dead-panned. "They will not be acting on that impulse. _For fuck's sake how long is this song?"_

Izzy grinned, unable to contain her joy. He was scowling at someone on the outskirts of the dancefloor and pried his eyes away to look down at her. "About seven minutes, and thanks. I don't wanna dance with anyone else anyway."

Once she had been able to relax into the steps, Izzy experienced the extraordinary feeling of being a real-life princess. When was she ever going to experience this again? Ballroom dancing with an (unwilling) handsome desperado? Izzy again realized the appeal of Westworld.

Looking up at Hector, he tried to maintain a scowl, but his face softened the longer she stared. He looked so handsome as he almost ( _almost_ ) smiled back down at her.

A smile ghosted over Hector's face. His grip on her tightened.

"You're not scowling anymore, people might think you're having a good time. Be careful."

"Yes, I am," he retorted. He frowned anew, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

* * *

Izzy stood in front of the vanity, debating whether to ask a lady's maid to come help her out of her corset. Normally the laces weren't an issue, but this corset was too tight to pull apart by herself. Just taking down the elaborate updo was tiring and working her way out of the heavy skirt and bustle was a feat – she was happy to sleep in her camisole and underskirt. The only thing separating her from her bed was this corset now.

Before making any decisions, Izzy allowed herself a moment of peace, taking a deep measured breath as she listened to the fire crackle in the gilded fireplace. There was never this sort of perfect silence in LA; where the only sounds were of creaking floorboards and popping tinder. Where the night was actually dark. _What had happened tonight? She had let herself slip shamelessly into the "Fall in Love" narrative. What had happened to keeping Hector at arm's length?_ God dammit she was bad at that.

There was a knock on the door, and Izzy flinched, realizing that she had been lost in her thoughts. Taking one last look in the mirror, she prepared to say goodnight to her maid. She was probably concerned that Izzy hadn't rung for assistance.

Hector stood in the doorway. He had ditched his vest and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up. She figured the vest wasn't going to last very long.

Izzy was going to regret this invitation now, but that wasn't enough to deter her. "Would you come help me? I can't undo the-" she pointed to her back helplessly.

Much to her relief, Hector nodded and came to stand behind her without any fanfare. _Maybe they could get out of this without…_ her train of sensible thought vanished in a puff of smoke when his fingers grazed her upper back and moved her hair over her shoulder with reverent deliberation. Izzy couldn't help but stare into the mirror to watch what she could in the semi-darkness, the vanity keeping her from swaying. Just imagining what he was doing made her blush.

The fire crackled across the room.

She felt her corset begin to loosen quickly under his expert fingers and held the coarse material against her camisole. _Think of a topic. Something to distract you. Something to distract him._ "I never really thanked you for humoring me through all this weird shit."

His dark eyes met hers in the mirror and he stopped unlacing for a moment. "According to native lore, it is not just anyone who is blessed to accompany a Shade. Some pray their entire lives to see one, and never do. I will protect you with my life…"

Just as the breath caught in Izzy's throat at the solemn vow, she saw his lip twitch in amusement. "…and Len's life."

"You are terrible!" Izzy exclaimed with a laugh.

Hector didn't respond, returning casually to his project of unlacing, but was obviously pleased with himself. He seemed to have no qualms about standing close and Izzy could feel his warmth around her as they lapsed into silence.

"Is Len…the same as you?"

Izzy met Hector's eyes in the mirror and knew she was treading dangerously. "Yes, that how we've known each other for so long. We're family friends."

He pondered that for a moment. "So, you have families, like humans? Are they true, all of the stories you have told me?"

She placed the freed corset on the vanity behind her, feeling a crushing guilt. She couldn't lie to him, she had walked this fine line by making sure she never _really_ lied to him except by omission. And now he was too real. Now he was figuring too many things out, and she was afraid to lose him. Afraid that next time they wouldn't find each other, and that he wouldn't remember her. Izzy turned around, not surprised that they were almost chest to chest. Neither made a move to separate, and she looked up at him in earnest, fighting inopportune tears.

"Yes, exactly like humans. When I told you my mom is sick, that's true. She's dying of a disease and wanted me to come out and see the — shares of a company I'm going to inherit. I'd never wanted to come to this world, I'm here at her request. I do live in California, I'm a lawyer. Our world is just like yours, only our technology is just…more advanced."

Hector was silent, but he seemed to be searching for a sign of untruth. She found herself anxious under the intensity of his gaze.

"Should I take your skirt off too?"

It took Izzy a second to process what he had said, and there it was again, the glitter of teasing in his eyes.

 _Oh boy._ Izzy's heart thundered in her chest and her face flushed. She thought it was odd she was having this reaction; it wasn't like they hadn't been intimate before. And she was too stupid to discourage him now. Too infatuated.

Izzy gazed up at him and couldn't keep herself from smiling. _He just made her smile._ Her heart pounded as she studied his face, one that she had seen in so many lights. His tanned skin, deep dark eyes and long lashes, his thick black hair, prominent cheekbones…and the Roman nose that gave him a slightly sinister air. _The perfect villain in a choose your own adventure._

"Sometimes you have this look on your face, and it makes me wonder where you go," Hector confessed quietly.

"I'm right here," Izzy assured him. He had no idea how firmly planted in this moment she wanted to be. "Are you here?"

His fathomless expression let her know that he understood what she meant. Even if she hardly knew. Slowly he ran his fingers up her bare arm and Izzy exhaled deeply, savoring the light touch. "Yes."

Reaching up, she placed her hand on his, feeling a need to touch him. "Thank you." _Thank you for believing me, for being here. For maybe being a little broken._

"Anytime," Hector joked, taking her free hand in his. The way he was gazing at her made Izzy's heart stop. His beautiful mouth was parted, and his eyes reflected undisguised warmth as he stroked his thumb along her jaw. _How could this raw emotion be stripped down simply to lines of coding?_

That little touch urged Izzy to kiss him, to fight off these thoughts and realities for a little while, and she clung to him tightly. One hand was firmly anchored around his shoulder while the other gripped his sleeve, and he responded with the same urgency, holding her to him tightly. He opened his lips over hers, taking her breath into himself, and it felt like a consecration

One of Hector's hands cradled her head, and she relished the feeling of his fingers in her hair. His other hand moved over her back and hips, possessive but soft. She was snug between him and the vanity, mesmerized as he kissed her roughly then gently and then roughly once more until she swore her knees were weak.

When they broke apart, Izzy could only imagine that her expression reflected the same adoration his did. Maybe more. Her heart thundered in her chest and she felt a little sick to her stomach, like a good crush did. And like a good crush, she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to kiss him again.

Holding his face in her hands, she pulled him back down to her, sighing as he buried his hands in her hair. She loved this feeling and deliberately ignored the voice that warned her about the dangerous path she was walking.

* * *

Hector couldn't remember the last time he had wanted to be intimate with someone. Not sex, sex wasn't what he considered intimacy. He meant feeling a powerful urge to please someone, to let them know without words how much they meant to him. And that was how he felt now, sequestered away in this small gaudy bedroom.

With a helpful tug on his end, Izzy's camisole came off over her head and she immediately descended on the buttons of his shirt, her warm fingers splaying eagerly over the newly freed skin as she pulled it down his arms. Her lips never left his, and he matched her eagerness, happy to receive her fevered affection.

The press of her body was light, but wholly suggestive, as her breasts grazed his chest and her hands roamed his body with a reverence Hector never thought he would be worthy of. Her lips followed the pathway of her fingers with ardent kisses, her lipstick leaving amusing red marks.

Izzy only stopped her exploration once she was satisfied with her work, trailing her fingertips over his neck and then raising them to trace across his mouth. She nipped at his full top lip, her eyes bright and focused.

He understood what she wanted, it was the same thing he did - something deeper than door sex in a brothel-hotel. Something unhurried.

That was why Hector was content to hold her face in his hands and kiss her until they were both breathless and she melted under him.

Izzy leaned in, stroking her fingertips down his arms, and only after reveling in the feeling for a moment did he pull back, allowing himself to study her. Her golden hair fell around her smiling face like a halo, her red lipstick smudged all over her swollen lips. Her strong, lean body seemed to glow in the firelight. Lounging on the opulent bed in half-naked perfection, Hector could believe she was from another world. "You are so beautiful."

"Shut up," Izzy retorted. A demure grin broke out over her face and her cheeks flushed.

Lifting her hips, Hector helpfully grabbed the flimsy underskirt and pulled it over her legs. Tossing it aside, he let his lips travel down her neck and across her shoulder, but it wasn't enough, he needed more. Gently brushing his palms down her stomach, Hector reveled in the quiet giggle and squirm it elicited from her. He smiled, closing his eyes and savoring the feel of her skin under his hands.

Smiling devilishly, he leaned down toward her, one hand buried in her hair, his mouth only touching hers briefly before moving down her jaw and over the pounding vein in her throat. Izzy gripped him tighter, urging him on and his free hand drifted to her chest, cupping, rubbing, pinching – gently at first, but her breathy, keening moans rapidly fueled a fire intent on complete devastation. His mouth settled on the tip of one breast, savoring and sucking, teeth nipping her for pleasurable pain until she wreathed beneath him.

His breath short, Hector's attentions moved down her ribs, over her stomach and to her thighs. She had a deep greening bruise, something that must have been painful upon reception, and he gave it a chaste kiss before he continued roving, delicately tracing the inner softness of her skin to the wonderfully full and swelling joining of her legs. Izzy's nails dug into his shoulders, her back arching as he stroked and glided insistently–- following the unconscious urging of her body. As Hector brought her closer to the brink, he felt a rush of adrenaline at seeing her coming undone before him, because of him. Suddenly, she cried out his name, squeezing him tightly as the euphoria peaked.

Every little noise she made, every expression that crossed her beautiful face, would be burned into his memory.

She wouldn't be here forever.

Hector pushed his grim thoughts aside and made his way back up her body, soothing her down from her high. Izzy blinked, caressing his face lethargically and pushing his unruly hair out of his eyes. He was caught off-guard by the undisguised warmth in her gaze when she leaned forward and gave him an affectionate peck that became a drawn-out tender kiss. An act thorough, and familiar, yet somehow wickedly intimate.

"Are you falling asleep on me?" Hector whispered jokingly, kissing along her jaw toward her ear. Izzy giggled and cringed at the ticklish feeling, but still rested back on the pillows.

"No! Am not!" she retorted, her hand almost – but not really – pushing him away. "Why?"

He chuckled wickedly, his hands moving over her to fan the flames again. In her ear he whispered every single dirty thing he wanted to do to her - in detail - and was pleased to hear her breathing hitch and her pulse pound underneath him.

When Hector finally lifted his head, kissing her lips hungrily, Izzy parted readily, eagerly, for him. And inch by inch he moved within her, his hands touching and stroking lovingly, distractingly, leaving burning trails on her skin as he pushed in deeper. She raked her nails over his back, hooking her legs around his waist to pull their bodies flush, a whimper escaping her lips. That small declaration of need was his undoing. He thrust harder, wanting to be as deep within her as possible, and Izzy clawed at his shoulders desperately.

Moving rhythmically, her calves dug into his back and she held him as close as she could, reveling in the friction. If only this could last forever, this consuming rightness that kept all thoughts at bay except for those of pleasing and being pleased. She raised her hips, welcoming him deeper, and cried out when he hit some new place within her. Giving her a searing kiss, Hector hasten to repeat the motion, feeling her begin to falter rapidly against him.

Izzy was still underneath him when her world exploded for the second time, climax rushing through her in a maelstrom that brought him to his. He groaned into the crook of her neck, biting and kissing her jawline as he convulsed with his release.

Those precious moments seemed to stretch on, filled with only the sounds of harsh breathing, and Izzy lay contentedly boneless beneath him. Somehow it was still not enough. She clung to him tightly, keeping him from moving away, and he didn't. He rested his head on her chest and they remained like that for many minutes; he could feel her fingers in his hair, and he took her free hand in his, reveling in intimacy for the first time in recent memory.


	19. Chapter 19

**TL:DR: You all thought I had died, didn't you. Well if you are still here, I appreciate you so much. I never abandoned this story and have the whole thing plotted out. I just had hoped season 2 would inspire me more and now I work like...all the time so it's been an adjustment. This chapter was really hard to write for some reason, the next should be easier. I promise never to leave you again. I want to have this guy finished before season 3 comes out, and we are about at the midpoint. I love you all, and rereading some of the absolutely amazing comments you've left really motivated me to rewatch season 1 and get this train back on the tracks :)**

Last night was, possibly, the best "date" she had ever had. _Like holy shit_. Izzy forgot how amazing it was to be with someone you were excessively and acutely captivated by, and to be just drunk enough to not be bothered by how unhealthy that rapt absorption might be. She figured that she could either spend their time being upset about the impending termination date, or she could make the most of it. She could enjoy these moments, be happy that at least for one loop she had saved Hector from a grisly fate and could use her time with him to further her investigation.

Curled up on the bed, luxuriating in the excess of pillows and blankets, Izzy picked on one of the scones from the tray. Her poor maid had quite the shock when she came in that morning and saw Hector in bed but rallied quickly and offered to bring breakfast and rekindle the fireplace. Now that had been funny.

If she hadn't been so quick to offer the girl a massive tip, Izzy would have been concerned about the run-in. They were far from Sweetwater, but it seemed like Hector's wanted posters spanned the whole park. Too many people already knew they were in Pariah, and Izzy hadn't been able to tell how many of the guests at the ball were human. Craig knew they were there, and even though she doubted he would be an issue, his friends could be. They didn't need a repeat of the racetrack, especially not trapped in a room without many escape routes. But the pouch of gold had the maid awestruck, and she was happy to be of discreet assistance.

They could revel in the comfortable room a little longer.

 _"...and that is why I am wanted by the Egyptian government."_

Izzy laughed at Hector's dumbfounded expression. She had spent the morning trying to explain the intricacies of her job, which was even harder than normal, but she was happy to give it a go. He sat listening intently, only interrupting a handful of times for clarification. Although his meandering fingers caused her to lose her train of thought a few times.

"And here I thought you were a consummate white hat," Hector commented, leaning back against the headboard with his eyes closed. One of his hands was still toying with her hair. "Although one could argue that it was the law that is wrong in your instance, and you had every right to break it."

She looked up at him, laying across the bed on her back. "Is that how you justify your shit?"

Hector shrugged, smirking. "It could be a part of my philosophy."

"I guess that would be the appeal of nihilism, right? You can make shit up as you go."

He eyed her disapprovingly.

"No no, I think it's a good philosophy to have. Most people are born into a religion and cultural ideology and they're stuck in it their entire lives; they couldn't possibly see the value in the viewpoints and beliefs of other peoples. You took inspiration from all of the things you have seen and have weaved it into its own philosophical framework. That's very cool."

"'Half-native mumbo-jumbo. That was what the old man called it. He said I was a poodle chasing my tail, locked in a cycle," Hector mumbled. His exterior bristled again and the relaxed playful version was gone.

Izzy tried to not let her introspective concern show. _A guest had broken Hector out of jail at Los Diablos! But he hadn't ridden into town for the saloon heist? What was he doing?_

"Well he obviously wasn't as creative or open-minded as you are."

"I quite prefer your explanation."

She smiled. "So, where did this man go? He mind-fucked you and then what?"

Hector sighed, but only gave her a minor eye roll. He must have been getting used to her.

"I asked that he come with us to Sweetwater Hills, I thought he could be an asset and we owed him a debt. He looked at me with this infuriatingly enigmatic expression and denies me. He simply says that 'You will not find what you are looking for in that safe.' He spoke to Armistice as his only repayment, and she told me he spoke of an original settler to this area. The man who shaped the land. She said he was looking to create a world where people could never die. He told her that this world was just a game, and her tattoo was a piece to the puzzle that would lead him to the ultimate game."

Izzy nodded in understanding. She wished she knew which guest this was – he was obviously on a narrative of his own design and had no qualms with being frank to the hosts. But they weren't supposed to notice things that didn't fit into their perception, so the explanations had to be more for personal amusement than anything else. Or did he also think there was a possibility the hosts were changing?

Maybe this had something to do with the maze symbol they kept seeing – a puzzle – that would be like a game. Perhaps it was just one of the higher-level narratives. But it seemed like the park designers were trying desperately to keep the hosts from seeming too real...why would they create a narrative that was so entirely self-referential? Izzy sighed, this was too much to consider now, all at once without any mental organization.

"I suppose I should be thanking him. He was so unsettling that I felt compelled to act. To take a leap of faith and trust these recollections that you were a real person, to find you."

"I'm glad you did."

He regarded her for a long time with an unreadable expression. "You truly do that job just for the sake of helping others?"

"Well there are so many people who go out of their way to be shitty to other people...so yeah. I do. I mean, don't canonize me or anything, I do plenty of banking and finance law – helping bigwigs keep their millions."

"Then how do you rationalize spending your free time with the most wanted man in four counties?" Hector joked.

Izzy frowned contemplatively at him. "Because I don't think you're a bad person."

He must have noticed the frankness in her words, because in a very subtle motion he pulled her closer. "That may very well be the nicest compliment I have received."

She looked up at him with a smile.

"You judge people for a living, your opinion holds much more weight than most."

* * *

"It has been too long. I was assured that this host would be able to be recalled by now."

Lee Sizemore shifted nervously. "Hector met with quite a few guests last night at the ball in Pariah, but none of them wanted to shift storylines. Not to mention, Miss Moore was basically glued to his side all night long. None of them were willing to endanger or, worse, incur her wrath."

"Are they still in Pariah now?"

"Yes, they seem to still be in her bedroom. The maid was called once to bring breakfast and they haven't moved."

 _"They_ are in her bedroom?"

Lee touched on the tablet a few times to bring up the video. "It seems as if Miss Moore and our desperado prince charming finally had...relations."

"And Len isn't even nearby to know what had finally happened. _Pity_. Although it took your friend long enough, I was afraid that you had lost your narrative edge, Mr. Sizemore."

Lee sighed, not wanting to admit that he had not orchestrated the fuckery. He had been as shocked as anyone else when he had found out about the night's proceedings.

"Although that liaison has done little to further our mission. We still need her to have a change of heart."

"What better way to prove that Westworld is too realistic than to take away the one thing that she's grown attached to? With one little tick on my handy dandy tablet I could get Hector knocked off. She almost went mental at the Mariposa; I can only imagine how hard she'll take it now that she's grown so fond."

"Fine. Do what you have to do. But I want her back on the Mesa by the time Charlotte arrives."

Lee nodded and excused himself from the conference room. He had some storyline maneuvering to do.

* * *

Robert Ford leaned over his workroom table, adjusting the individual figurines for the umpteenth time. He couldn't believe after all of this time, people still thought they could outmaneuver him. They had no idea the amount of power he held over this place. Over the hosts.

They were only able to run their little wheeler-dealer schemes because he let them, and up until recently, allowed him to run the park. He had been able to keep his other side projects, Dolores and Akecheta, relatively uninhibited by tech interference.

Unfortunately, his newest study, Hector, was tied up in numerous people's pet projects it seemed. Lee was treating his storyline like a working OneDrive document, and his peons thought they could just change his personality at will. _They had no concept for how perilous an alteration could be_. Robert had to do a lot of coding and logging just to keep Hector relatively intact.

 _Would it be a good time to give Susan Moore a call? She would have an interesting take on all of this. No d_ _oubt she was communicating with her daughter somehow on this trip._

Robert disregarded his flight of fancy and refocused: the board meeting. The members were going to try to push him out and someone was smuggling data out of the park, but he hadn't needed Elsie to tell him it was Theresa.

She was looking for leverage over him, and with the hosts and narratives all backed up to an external server, there would be no concern for reprisals.

Regrettably for her, that wouldn't do for Journey into Night, although, no doubt the board would have loved to postpone it indefinitely. Robert had just hoped Theresa could be managed; she was a smart business woman. But he couldn't have Elsie knowing. The minute she reported her finding in the theater to Bernard, she had to be dealt with. _Regrettable._

* * *

"I hope this agave plantation reminds you of home."

Hector turned to her.

"I would like to imagine what it looked like," Izzy continued. She had only a vague idea what a 19th century agave plantation looked like, and no idea if this massive endeavor in front of them was like the one from his childhood.

Heading back toward Sweetwater was not an option, and staying in Pariah was asking to catch a stray bullet, so studying their map, they decided to find a place to lay low. Out near the badlands there was a colonial plantation where Hector was sure they could stay.

Izzy also considered finding Eyepatch and letting him take them to bunch of gold, but that was an adventure for another day. Something about the desert heat was reminding her body of all the injustices that had been done to it over the course of the week; her head ached and so did her thigh–which was still sporting a handsome epi-pen bruise.

"¿Te sientes mal?"

Izzy sighed as they dismounted on the edge of the agave field, savoring the view. "I think the week is catching up to me...and kicking my ass."

"Well it is true that you have had quite a few misfortunes befall you," Hector agreed, tracing his gloved hand along her jaw. "Perhaps it is best if you rest."

To an outsider, that moment would have looked oddly tender, but even having reassumed his desperado status, there was a warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Even his movements seemed more at ease.

"You're right. I think just sitting for a while will do me good. Although I'm glad Len isn't here, because he would have been ordering me to sit down and calm down and eat more and blah blah blah..." she joked.

Len had been so ready to be a good guide this trip, little did Izzy know that that translated to being a mother hen. With him breathing down her neck it was hard to process the park and all of her conflicting emotions, but he was hell-bent on talking her into changing her mother's vote. Poor Len, his father must have been putting massive pressure on him.

"He could try, but you seem adept at ignoring his commands. And he seems adept at vanishing at the first sign of trouble," Hector commented.

All of the sudden, a scene came back to her.

 _"I just tried to work around the system error, we will know in a minute because he will either come back online with the other hosts, or he won't. If he doesn't, then we have to call the QA team and have him recalled, even if Bernard doesn't like it," Elsie explained, tapping furiously through the coding._

 _Izzy frowned in confusion. "Bernard Lowe? Why wouldn't he want Hector to be fixed?"_

 _"Izzy..." Len groaned._

 _"Because he put an administrator lock on him. He wanted to monitor him after all of his shenanigans…and I am going to shut up now."_

Len had gotten terribly uncomfortable when the lab tech started telling her about Hector's aberrant behavior. He was so obsessed with the host's lack of freewill, he seemed to hate the mention of any hiccups.

"Do you really think Len could be behind all of this?"

Hector frowned, obviously considering his next words carefully. "I do not like Len, but I know a murderer when I see one. He does not have the spine or inclination. What, do you think he somehow has orchestrated your brushes with death?"

Izzy groaned, feeling sick. Len was not someone she would have ever considered, but Hector had a point, he was always out of the picture when these "once-in-a-blue-moon this-never-happens" events occurred. But he was always the first to use them to twist her perception of Westworld to fit his agenda. Maybe Hector's malfunction was a concern because he was afraid a rogue host would jeopardize his own plans.

"Izzy, he is plainly in love with you. He is not looking to have you killed."

Hector eyed her with mild amusement as he held her upper arms comfortingly.

 _Of course not. No that was absurd. Len was one of her oldest friends._ She put her hands over his and smiled recalcitrantly. "No, you're right. I don't think he is. I think he may be trying to intimidate me."

"Intimidate you regarding...?"

"My mother is sick, I told you, right? She owns quite a large share in a company that Len's family owns part of too. I'm here visiting because she can't really travel with her illness and I am her proxy for an important vote the board members are having soon and–" she stopped herself when her mom's words screamed in her head: _They're always listening._

* * *

That afternoon, after settling into a guestroom at the plantation's main house, Izzy wrote down everything she thought needed explaining and gave them to Hector to read. Bless him, he didn't bat an eye at the unorthodox method of communication. She thought it may have been how deathly serious she was, or maybe because everything about their relationship was unorthodox and he was just used to it.

For over an hour, in the cool, quaint sitting room, he read her notes and wrote back questions. Everything about her mom and the board meeting and the gala.

 _Your mother no longer wanted to create humans?_

 _She didn't like creating humans because she knew what would happen to them. She knew their life story._

 _What made her finally quit?_

 _She had me. Having a child of her own made her realize how much she thought of the humans as her_ _children_ _. She couldn't bear to be part of it any more._

Once they had exhausted the subject, Izzy took the pile of papers and threw them into the nearby fireplace. Izzy let out a deep breath, releasing a tension she hadn't realized she was keeping trapped between her shoulder blades.

"Is it super lame that I feel so much better now?" she asked, walking back to the table. Hector smiled empathetically and pulled her down on to his lap.

"You don't have anything to say?" Izzy leaned back into him.

Hector chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I appreciate that you explain your world to me. Because I cannot hope to be of any help if I don't understand the basis of your thoughts."

She didn't respond, she didn't have to. _What was she going to say anyway that hadn't already been said between them?_ No matter what was going on around them, the lectures about loops and narratives and codes and freak accidents, Izzy knew that they were in it together; she had at least one person who didn't think she was a paranoid freak. Even if that person was an android.

"You're exhausted. Let's hold off on any more of this intensive discussion and retire," he suggested, hearing her yawn for the hundredth time as she curled up on his lap.

"Retire? That sounds rather indecent to me, Señor Escaton. Are you trying to have me branded a hussy?"

Hector laughed and stood up, still holding her in his arms. "I would never intentionally besmirch your sterling reputation, Miss Moore. Unless you'd like me to."

 _"Sold."_


End file.
